SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG!!!‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

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@aroacedaddy
SHADOW THE HEDGEHOG!!!‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️
I’ve been laughing at “fuck this lemon you take it” for several minutes
A unique Shadow expression that I wanted to draw
Why Alastor is aroace
I know this is quite the argument to get myself involved in, but this is a really important subject to me. I want to be clear that this is not inherently a criticism of shipping Alastor in general. Shipping/not shipping aroace characters is a whole separate discussion, one that I don't care to get involved with right now. To summarize my stance on that: the most realistic answer is to tag your stuff properly, and block the tags you don't want to see.
My reasons can be found both inside canon and from the words of the creators. Alastor is aroace, no doubt about it to me.
Alastor is explicitly stated in the show to be asexual. This is completely, inarguably canon. Additionally, there is significant evidence that he is sex-averse or sex-repulsed. Both in the Pilot and in S01E01, when Angel Dust propositions him, Alastor doesn't just say no, he looks somewhat horrified.
"I can suck your dick!" *static screeches* "Ha! No!"
Same with his reaction in S01E01
"If you film me going at it with Mr. Fancy-Talk Creepy-Voice, you'd be rolling in participants willing to stay at this tacky hotel." "Ha! Never going to happen!"
That's not disinterest, that's pure horror, shock, and disgust. He is defintely sex-averse, if not sex-repulsed.
In both S01E04 and S01E06, two episodes with significant sexual content, Alastor is completely absent. He is nowhere to be seen for the entirety of both episodes. He doesn't watch Angel's film, he doesn't go to Consent (the sex club), he is completely missing. And even in S01E03, he has absolutely nothing to do with any of the sexually charged scenes, like the BDSM club Angel takes them to.
So, it is extremely clear that Alastor has absolutely no interest in sex whatsoever. At the absolute most he is sex-indifferent, but I am leaning towards sex-averse (given he looked more irritated than disgusted in S02E04 about watching Vox and Valentino have sex, but any mentions of sex involving Alastor seem to disgust him).
His aromanticism is what people like to argue/push back against more. But not only are there multiple pieces of evidence from the creators of the show that he is aromantic, I believe there is plenty of canonical evidence in the show itself.
Let's start with the evidence outside the show. Amir Talai (Alastor's VA) called him aroace, then retracted that, stating that he is asexual but his aromanticism is unknown, and this is the primary evidence cited by those arguing that Alastor is not aromantic.
However, for a long time before this, Alastor was repeatedly cited as being aromantic/aroace until Vivziepop decided to retract that so as not to "ruin the fun" of shippers (like that would stop anyone).
The implication here is that Alastor is in fact aromantic, and they just won't confirm it in the show because to make someone aromantic "ruins the fun." What the actual fuck?
My identity does not "ruin the fun." This statement is extremely arophobic in my opinion. First of all, no one's identity should be talked about in this way. Secondly, canonicity really does not affect shipping. Even if he was explicitly aroace, shippers would still ship, and that's fine, tbh. I would draw the line at saying a canonically aromantic character should be made canonically alloromantic, because that's queer erasure, but shipping is completely separate from canon. People ship characters from different fandoms all the time, that has no effect on canon. Tag your stuff properly, and block the tags you don't wanna see.
I really do try to avoid discourse for the most part, but this statement here is one of the most hurtful things I've ever heard someone say about aromanticism. Like, genuinely, it's a really cruel way to view a queer identity, as nothing but a tool for fun (or an obstacle to fun). If someone said "No, this character is going to be heterosexual or it would ruin the fun" or "This character is going to be cisgender or it would ruin the fun" there would be outrage. But everyone seems perfectly happy to accept this shit when it's about erasing aromantics.
Note: obviously this is an old livestream and a spur of the moment comment, not necessarily something that was planned or scripted out. I mess up in my phrasing of things all the time. I doubt the intention here was to be arophobic, but it hurts nonetheless, especially since she hasn't (to my knowledge, please correct me if I'm wrong about this) apologized even for the phrasing or anything. My issue is moreso with the way everyone accepts this when they would be outraged if it were any other queer identity. There's a real double standard about applying the SAM only for the sake of erasure.
But then, Amir Talai posted a video in which he said that Vivziepop does view him as aroace. Here's a link to the video, (go about 10 seconds into the video).
In the announcement that Helluva Boss was coming to Prime, Blitzø called Alastor "the freaky red guy everyone's into", and the official Hazbin Hotel account commented, referring to him as "The freaky red guy who's NOT INTO ANYONE!"
(old screenshot because I'm not going on TikTok just to find it myself, sorry)
In the season 1 recap song (sidenote, I really need a title for this song), Alastor blatantly makes fun of Huskerdust, and his tone in describing Charlie and Vaggie's relationship ("She fell from grace and fell in love") sounds very sarcastic. Again, very repulsed aroace coded.
Now, with all of that outside context, let's talk about some things that are explicitly stated and shown in canon, which are significant. First of which being the "ace in the hole" line. Rosie specifically says: "Who's this you brought with you? Come now, Alastor, she's much too young for you. Oh, I'm just kidding! I know you're an ace in the hole!"
Obviously, Rosie was implying that Alastor was dating Charlie before saying "Oh, I'm just kidding!" The joke was with regards to dating (aka romance), not just sex. Like, the joke makes way less sense if you assume it's only about his sexual orientation and not his romantic orientation as well. The pun just worked with "ace" rather than "aro" or "aroace." I don't know how to actually put it into words properly, but it's clear to me that she's saying Alastor wouldn't date at all because of his orientation. AKA, that he's aroace.
Additionally, Alastor looks extremely irritated to hear Charlie's relationship issues.
This is the most "dear god please save me I can't deal with relationship drama" aroace face I've seen in my life. I have never understood this man so much.
His static gets louder and louder as she rants about her argument with Vaggie, and when she finally asks "Wait, where are we?" he looks SO relieved to have something else to talk about. Especially now that we know Rosie owns his soul, why would he be so happy to be going to her UNLESS it's because he's just so relieved to have someone else to pin all of the romantic complaints that he cannot care about on? That's certainly how I (a sometimes-romance-averse-sometimes-romance-repulsed-aroace who gets asked for relationship advice way too often) would feel.
This is possibly the most overdramatic pose from Alastor we've seen in the entire show. He is so extremely relieved to talk about literally anything other than Charlie and Vaggie's relationship issues.
His neon color palette is purple and green, AKA the primary colors of the asexual and aromantic flags respectively. Like, just look.
AND in the Valentine's Day merch, Alastor's Valentine's card specifically says friend: "You're a very deer friend." His keychain says "Love yourself."
This is some of the most aromantic Valentine's day merch imaginable. The only thing more aromantic for me, personally, is the "love loses" jokes (I know not everyone enjoys them, but I do).
Finally, why does it have to be such a fight to prove that a character's romantic orientation matches their sexual orientation only when that sexual orientation is ace? Why is the SAM only considered by fandom at large as an excuse to make characters more allo? No one is arguing "well technically Angel Dust is canonically gay, that doesn't mean he isn't aromantic" or "Vaggie isn't technically confirmed to be homoromantic, only a lesbian." And when we have this much evidence, it feels intentional to keep arguing against it. It feels like erasure and amatonormativity. It's disingenuous to only bring up the split-attraction model as an argument to decrease aspec representation.
Let Alastor be aromantic, for fuck's sake. Alastor being aroace does not affect fanworks. People will still ship regardless, and that's fine, for the most part. Annoying, but not harmful. But Alastor being aromantic is really important to a lot of people, myself included.
So, yeah, Alastor is aroace. I have never in my life seen a more aromantic character. I cannot think of any character with more clear, in-text evidence of being aromantic. He's aroace.
Do what you want in fanon, but PLEASE don't try to argue that he's canonically alloromantic, because that's simply not canon. The most you can argue is that his romantic orientation is ambiguous, but as you can see, there is extremely, EXTREMELY clear evidence that he's aromantic, even if the show is too cowardly to explicitly state it. Here's hoping that changes.
I highly recommend listening to The Ace Couple's episode about Alastor, it's just a good listen overall. (Sorry, I hate Spotify and I'm working on moving elsewhere, this was just where I could find the episode).
Here's an excellent post about Alastor's aromanticism that you should also check out. It touches on some things that I discussed here, but brings up some other points as well!
Additional half-joking evidence: Alastor's malicious aromanticism
Finally, a huge thank you to everyone who helped me come up with examples to consider for this post.
The rapist ring leader villain downfall being at the hand of the touch repulsed asexual man he was rejected by and constantly harrassing , thats karma. Good stuff
A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 57 (Human Alastor x Widowed Reader)
CW: Blood, smut AN: Upcoming bonus chapter Wednesday for MisD's birthday! We're $5 toward the next bonus chapter! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here
Alastor held you to him as both of your bodies shook, coming down together from the highs of pleasure. Looking up at him, you couldn’t get past how handsome he was or the feeling of being so truly his. You’d given everything to him now. There wasn’t anything he hadn’t claimed.
Inside you, his cock softened slowly as he held you.
Finally, you had laid with him as a woman lays with her husband. Alastor had given you everything he had to give, including his seed and your freedom.
“What do we do now?” Your fingers trembled as you reached out, scared to touch the blood drying on his face. “Oh, my god. Alastor, I- I killed him.”
“Yes,” Alastor’s hand wrapped around yours, pressing your palm against his cheek. “We killed him. You’re free now.”
Panic flooded through you, giving you a whole new reason to tremble in his arms. You were a murderess. Alastor, he was alright, but what would he think when it set in for him? Through the panic, every time you closed your eyes, you saw his hand over yours, helping you hold the blade steady.
You had to trust in him.
“First, we need to wash this blood off us and burn our clothes. Then we’ll figure out the rest of it.”
Your legs were numb as you stood, looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Water roared as it filled the tub. The bright electric lights only made the drying blood on your skin, soaked into your dress, stand out more.
Nausea rolled through you in waves as you looked down at your hands. Blood stained your wedding ring, just like seemingly every part of you. The back of your dress stuck to you, glued in place by drying blood.
“Cher?” Alastor’s voice cut through the fog in your mind.
You turned mechanically to see him unbuttoning his shirt. The brown was dark, stained with your husband’s blood in places. Blood smeared down his neck and onto his chest from where it had run down from his face.
It was your husband’s blood that coated his hands as he worked his belt free. His pants fell to the ground as your eyes examined him unashamedly, taking in every dip of muscle. Bright red marks on his ribs told you where he had taken blows. Those marks would likely deepen into dark bruises that would be tender for days.
Alastor hummed a soft tune as he walked over to you. The musical sound of his voice wrapped around you as his nimble fingers worked the buttons down your dress. Your stomach rolled as he peeled the bloody fabric off your skin, leaving you standing in front of him in your slip.
With a simple brush of his fingers, that layer of fabric, too, should have fallen to the ground. Instead, like your dress, the drying blood that coated your back held it in place. It didn’t seem to bother Alastor in the slightest as he tugged the fabric off your body.
“You’re bleeding,” Alastor knelt as he guided your panties down your legs. You hadn’t noticed that some of the blood you wore was not Laurence’s. “If- I didn’t want to hurt you. You should have-”
“No,” you leaned into his chest as he stood up, pressing your bare front into him as you wrapped your arms around his back. “You didn’t, not really. I wanted it. I wanted you to.”
“You’re not supposed to bleed.” Alastor’s cheek rested against your head. “You should never bleed.”
“I nearly always do,” you tried to brush it off.
“It’s because he hurt you,” Alastor cupped your jaw and forced you to look up at him. “It won’t be that way with me.”
“Can we be together now? Really?” You couldn’t keep the fear from your voice. “Alastor we-”
He shushed you while walking toward the bath with you tucked in his arms. “First, we wash the blood off, then we figure out how we’re getting out of this together.”
“I should let you,” you tried to step back as Alastor stepped into the steaming bath.
“Join me,” he finished for you.
“Alastor, it’s-” you spoke as you stepped into the water in direct contrast to your protests.
“Indecent?” Alastor chuckled, “less so for a widowed woman.”
You offered no protests as he sank into the water, guiding you to rest in his arms. Red ribbons lifted from your hands as you moved them to rest on his chest. The water soaked into your skin, pulling up the evidence of your greatest sin. You couldn’t pull your eyes from the sight.
“Close your yes,” Alastor’s voice was soft, floating into your ears through the steam. “Don’t look at it.”
“I’m going to go to hell,” you whimpered. “Alastor, we-”
His hand, hot and wet from the bath, tilted your chin up so that his lips could capture yours in a soft kiss. Your eyes closed with a flutter of lashes. A soft sigh slipped from between your parted lips as he pulled away.
“Good girl,” he whispered, voice naked and thick with accent. “Just like that, darlin’. Stay just like that.”
Alastor’s hands ran over your arm, caressing down until he threaded his fingers through yours. It took a bit for you to realize what he was doing as he worked his fingers around yours. While you sat, eyes closed, body pressed against his, he washed the blood from your hands.
You turned, reading the pressure of his hands to straddle his lap. The hard tub bit into your knees. Warm hands ran up and down your back, splashing warm water up onto the blood that dried there.
“Lean back,” Alastor said, “I’ll hold you.”
“What?” Your eyes fluttered open, eyes focusing on Alastor’s face. He had washed the blood from his face before the tub filled, but it still matted his hair into dark clumps.
“I was going to wash your hair for you.”
You leaned forward intead. Pink water ran from your arms as you cupped water in your hands, carrying it up to Alastor’s head. He leaned his head back, fingers gripping your hips as he scooted down the tub, folding his legs more to allow him room to sink down.
“Me first,” you said, as if he wasn’t already making room for you to work.
He leaned his head back and sighed as you ran your fingers through his curls. You tried to tell yourself it was something else you were washing from his hair. More red ribbons spread out around his head, mixing into the pink bloodstained water.
You continued to work your fingers through his hair, carefully splashing water up to work through all of his hair. His hands ran along your thighs and up your sides, taking in the feeling of you while you worked your fingers over his scalp.
When was the last time anyone had washed his hair? It wasn’t something he allowed just anyone to do. Before you, it was just Mimzi he’d allowed to see his hair naturally. It took a few moments of thinking before Alastor realized the last person to wash his hair for him was, in fact, his mother.
“There,” you whispered, realizing the fact that you were naked in the bath atop Alastor as his eyes slowly opened, locking on yours. “As clean as it’s going to get in this water.”
“Your turn.” Alastor held you to him as he sat up. Water ran from his curls, dripping into the pink water.
His large hand rested between your shoulder blades as he guided you to lean back. Your core pressed against him, sliding against his hips and pressing into his lower abdomen. Each passing minute had you more aware of his body moving against yours than you were of his hands running through your hair, spreading the strands out behind you in the water.
A warm floral smell wrapped around you as he worked the liquid soap through your hair. He took his time working the lather through each strand, spending far longer than you would on the task. You didn’t mind. The oils from the plants in it worked hard to dampen the coppery tinge that lingered in the air.
He watched the bloody water surround your body as the bubby suds floated away from you. It felt like he was living in his ideal world, you in his arms, with the lovely smell of blood and flowers hanging in the air. You were the most beautiful thing, surrounded in the bloody water, held in his arms, trusting him with your life.
Under you, his cock twitched, stiffening with every beat of his mesmerized heart. When his hardening cock pressed intently up against the soft curve of your ass, his body was once again awakening with need.
You gasped as he pressed up against you. Alastor’s lips descended on your neck. Soft kisses ran down your skin before he licked up your neck, tasting you. His muscles flexed as he moved, holding you tight while you ran your fingers over his chest.
His name was a soft sigh on your lips as he caressed away the memory of your husband’s touch. When Alastor had washed away the memory of Laurence’s hands on your skin, you leaned into him.
He accepted your kiss eagerly, matching your hunger as you rose off his lap slightly. Under you, his cock stood, no longer pinned down by your body.
“Cher,” Alastor had to clear his throat before he could make any sound come out of his mouth. “Your body is healing. I don’t-”
You moaned softly as you nestled yourself over his cock, the head of him pressing against your opening. He had made you feel so good and you craved that feeling again.
“You need to heal.” Alastor’s voice was soft. It took much restraint to not allow his desire to seep into it. “There will be plenty of time-”
Your velvety heat enveloped him, choking off his words as you sank lower down his shaft. His back arched and his head fell back, thumping against the tub as you nestled into his lap.
It would be a lie to say there was no pain. Alastor was far more of a man than your husband had been in more ways than one. He stretched the healing tissue around him, pulling open the small rips Laurence left inside you before they had enough time to do much more than clot.
You didn’t have to give your body to Alastor a second time. You didn’t have to give your body to anyone ever again. No one would ever hurt you again. Everything, at least for the moment, was your choice again.
And your choice was to have him seated, hard and stiff inside you.
Never had you imagined that a man could take a woman without having her under him. The very idea that you could give yourself to Alastor while in the man’s place was ludicrous and yet your back arched as he filled you from below.
“Oh, Alastor.” You sighed as your body nestled down against his. He stretched you painfully. It was a pain you chouse, though. It was a pain you wanted.
“Yes?” His hands gripped your hips. He had his eyes locked on you as you once again surrounded him in your heat.
“It feels good.” Your hips rocked, testing the sensation.
“What does?” He guided your hips up, encouraging you to lift on your knees before leading you to sink down his shaft again.
“You,” your head fell back as you let him lead you. “Having you inside me. Being with you like this. Being with you at all.”
It would have been a lie if Alastor told anyone that he didn’t want you at that moment. You moved in water stained with Laurence’s blood. He was taking you, being taken by you in a sea of pink. Each time you sank on him, the water splashed up. Pink water drops ran down your chest, hanging from the pebbled bud of your nipple.
“You’re beautiful like this.” Alastor couldn’t take his eyes off you as you clumsily rode him. Your lips parted in gasping breaths each time he filled you. Fresh blood, though slight, spilled into the water from where your bodies joined.
“Does it feel good to take your pleasure?” Alastor ran his hands, warm and wet, up your sides. “To use instead of being used?”
“I’m sorry.” You curled into him, tucking yourself into his chest as shame washed over you. It wasn’t enough to stop the steady rise and fall of your hips. Water splashed and surged with your movements. “I’m so sorry,”
“Cher,” Alastor pulled your face up as his other hand forced itself into the tight space between your bodies, seeking the nub of pleasure you ground into him each time you forced your protesting body down on his long cock. “I am for you to use. My pleasure is yours to take.”
“Ah,” you cried out as he stroked the nerves.
Each time you rose along his shaft, his hand followed. Pleasure built as you worked yourself onto him. Your fingers dug into his chest, nails scratching over his nipple as you tried to grip whatever was under hand as that breaking point only Alastor could take you to approached.
The sharp sting of your nail over his nipple sent a shiver down his spine. Water sloshed over the edge of the tub, splashing onto the ground as he thrust up into you.
“Cher,” Alastor said as his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you to him tighter.
“Alastor,” you sighed into his neck as the pink sea of water in the tub surged around you with each thrust onto him.
You were so close to shattering atop him. Tears gathered in your eyes as you chased the feeling, just out of reach. You wanted that explosion of pleasure that only Alastor could give you. There was only so much of the magical feeling that came with being with Alastor you could seem to muster up in the cramped tub.
“Hold on to me,” Alastor said, fingers carding through your hair.
He leaned forward. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, though you did not stop moving, chasing what was just out of reach. He guided your legs to wrap around his waist, stifling your movements in his lap.
It took a few awkward moments before he reversed the roles and you were plunged into the cooling pink water. He braced an arm on the tub behind you, keeping your body from hitting the hard surface while his other arm swept behind your back. He held you steady as he thrust into you.
Water surged and splashed as he pushed forward, giving you everything you struggled to give yourself. While you enjoyed the power you felt while being atop such a strong and powerful man, having him atop you stole the breath from your lungs.
He held you in place just so, allowing himself to stimulate all of you with every deep thrust into your tight, sore body. You clung to him as the pleasure washed over you. Pulling back, he shifted his grip on you, giving you a chance to see the wide smile stretched on his handsome face.
The smile unnerved you, though he didn’t give you long to dwell on it. He tucked you against his shoulder and moved with renewed energy. Water sloshed and surged as your fingers dug into his back, feeling the muscles work under his skin and the water drying until you were clutching him with all of your body.
Your core fluttered as muscles spasmed. His name was a prayer of thanks and a blessing on your lips. Alastor showed you for the second time that day the pleasure of laying with a man you loved, who loved you. This was the world kept hidden from you, stolen from you. This was what you could have an unending supply of now that…
Alastor pulled you from the water as your body relaxed around him. He was still hard inside you as he stood, stepping out of the cooling pink water. You told yourself the water was pink from the soaps or the oils. That was why. It wasn’t… you didn’t just… in…
“Cher.” Alastor’s voice stole your attention only for his lips to steal your thoughts. He kissed you with a hunger that ripped the breath from your lungs. Cold pebbled your nipples, brushing against the hard buds of his as he carried your wet, naked body through the hall.
It was indecent. The sunlight flittered into the hall from the bedroom window. What you were doing, laying with Alastor as you were- these were things one does in the night or the early morning. This was not what a respectable woman did in the middle of the day.
Your back pressed against the wall, supporting your weight as Alastor adjusted his grip. He took the chance to thrust into you, taking you against the wall for a few moments. It wasn’t something you had realized was possible, but it had you wanting more of him.
“Darlin’,” Alastor gasped out, his cock twitching hard as he seated himself fulling inside of you. “Baby. You’re warm. So wet for me.”
“That’s what happens when you take a bath. You get wet.” You tried to put a sly smile on your lips, losing it the moment he plunged back into you.
Alastor chuckled, face hidden in the crook of your neck. “Oh, this is a very different water soaking me.”
You moaned as he pulled you from the wall, your weight settling heavier on the cock within you. The pain of him spreading your sore and healing walls was nearly forgotten now, replaced with a consuming need for more of him.
He carried you easily, shifting your weight to bounce slightly on his twitching cock with every step he took. He bent, placing your back on the soft bedspread that you hated for so many years. Your hands ran over his shoulders, slipping down to caress his chest as he thrust into you one last time before stepping away.
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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 56 (Human Alastor x Married Reader)
CW: Blood, murder, smut AN:Thanks to Lady and Midnight who, by your forces combined will be bringing you a bonus chapter today! Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here
Trembling fingers held the knife as Alastor stood behind you. His hand wrapped around yours, helping you keep your grip tight on the bloody hilt. The pressure of his chest against your back, expanding with each breath he took, reassured you, along with the arm he held wrapped around your waist. His heart hammered against his chest with such force you could feel its beats.
“We’ll do it together,” Alastor whispered in your ear. “You don’t have to do it alone, but you have got to do it.”
“I have to do it,” you whispered, lips numb as tears ran down your face.
“Yes, my love.” Alastor soothed, stepping forward and pushing you closer to the groaning man on the floor of the office. “You have to do it. Just this last step and then you’re free of him.”
“I can be free?” You were shaking in his arms as you took a step independent of Alastor, wild wide eyes locked on the man you swore to love in sickness and in health, laying on the floor.
Behind you, his smile spread wide as he let his arm grow slacker around your waist, giving you more room to move. This wasn’t how he had intended to get you to this point, but it would do.
It was far better than poison. He struggled to take his eyes from the blood on your pretty hands, so much smaller than his. Oh, how lovely they looked wrapped around a blade.
“Once you do this, we can be together.” Alastor promised as you fell to your knees, your husband’s blood splashing lightly before soaking into your dress.
Alastor knelt behind you, letting his knees slot on either side of your hips. Laurence looked up, blinking, as he watched his wife as she was pulled firmly against the chest of the man who stole you.
Laurence’s mouth worked, lips forming your name but unable to make a sound. All you had wanted was for your husband to love you. For years, you had tried to find love with him and never had he given it to you.
It was too late now. You had fallen in love with someone else. There was nothing else you could do. There was nothing left to do.
“I have to do this,” you whispered. You wanted to tell him you were sorry, but you couldn’t make the words come out.
“Together,” Alastor said as he reached around you, pushing Laurence onto his back before looking at you. “Alright?”
You hesitated, looking into the red eyes of the man you loved. The blood was clearing now, no longer oozing into his eyes as freely. Alastor leaned forward, kissing you deeply as he pulled you against him.
You felt it then; him pressed into your lower back. He was stiff, hard, and ready for you. Alastor wanted you and oh, you wanted him. It was one line he wouldn’t cross while you were married and now you had the power to cut that last cord.
“Together?” you whispered as your lips left his to look back at your husband, wide eyes struggling to focus as you kissed the man you loved.
Alastor nodded, pulling your hand forward. “Two hands now,”
You wrapped your other hand around the hilt as Alastor lifted his hand from yours. Once the blade was secure in your grip, Alastor wrapped one hand around yours again. Reaching forward, he wrapped his hand around Laurence’s face, pulling his head up and back to expose his throat.
Laurence found strength then, little though it was. He could not make his limbs move. His body was weak from the blood pouring out of his back and abdomen. What he could do was watch, eyes wide as the woman who should have been his, who should have been under his control, brought the bloody knife closer to his neck.
He shuffled, trying to create distance. Alastor’s large hand held his head firmly back against the floor of his office. All Laurence could do was scream into Alastor’s hand.
“How?” you asked, looking between Laurence’s wide glassy eyes, the blade in your hands and Alastor’s face hovering so close to yours.
“Like this,” Alastor said, pushing your hands forward until the butt of the blade was resting against Laurence’s throat. Panicked breathing came in quick painful gasps from the man that had tormented you to some extent through all of your marriage. “Push down and pull back,” Alastor whispered.
Moaning cries came from your husband, muffled by Alastor’s hand. Were those the same sounds you made when he broke your ribs? When he threw you against the stairs? Did you shake and cry in the same way when he rammed his fists into you?
Now he knew what it felt like to be scared and hurting. He was lucky, you thought. He would only have to experience this pain once. How many times had he hurt you? So many times. Too many times.
But he wouldn’t. Never again.
“Okay,” you swallowed before pushing down on the blade.
Red. So much red bloomed around the blade, spilling down his neck, staining it red. The blood poured over pale skin, coating it. Was that what it looked like when he stained your thighs red with your blood?
“Just like that, yes,” Alastor said as he pulled your torso tighter against his, hips twitching against you. “Good girl.”
When you hesitated, he put pressure on your hands and the blade, encouraging you to keep going. He did not let up the pressure until the blade made a scraping sound that sounded so much like when you would hit a bone when cutting through a leg of beef.
“Almost there,” Alastor said, as the tip of the blade scraped against bone. “And done,” he said, when the tip of the bloody knife slipped free of the other side of your husband’s neck.
“Is it done?” you whispered, turning to Alastor as blood poured onto the ground.
“In a minute, it will be.” He took the knife from your hands and tossed it off to the side. “You did it.”
He kissed you, lips meeting yours with a desperation that had you gasping for air. New tears ran down your face as you ran your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck. Your front was pressed against his, blood soaking into your dress from his shirt.
“It’s over,” Alastor said as his eyes slowly opened and glanced toward the man that had been your husband for far too long, taking in the way the blood had slowed to little more than an ooze. It didn’t take a man long to bleed out, especially considering how much blood he had already lost.
“Really?” you asked, a smile unexpectedly pulling at the corners of your lips.
“Congratulations on your widowhood, Mrs. Latimer.”
“Thank you, Alastor.” You spoke softly as you caressed his face. “I’m sorry you got hurt in the-”
Alastor kissed you again, pushing you down with his body. Blood soaked into your dress and your hand slipped across the wet wooden floor. His body pressed against yours as he kept himself as close to you as he could while his kiss devoured your senses.
His hips pressed into you, hardness demanding that you take notice of his desire. He draped himself over you, blanketing you with his bloody body. Though your hands were coated in Laurance’s blood, you couldn’t help but run them over Alastor’s back.
Alastor seemed unbothered by the smears of red you left on his brown shirt. His fingers dug into your blood-soaked dress, holding you as if you’d somehow fade away if his grip loosened even for a moment.
Kisses trailed along your jaw as you arched into his hands. Blood soaked into your hair, sticking it to your skull.
“You’re magnificent,” Alastor whispered into your shoulder as he gripped your ribs. His chest pressed into yours every time he seemed to lower with his exhales, matching the kisses he placed. “So brave. You’re free now.”
“I’m free.” You marveled at the thought as you surrendered to Alastor’s attention. His hands ghosted over your breasts. His clothed hardness ground against your core, though you had no memory of spreading your legs for him.
Each time he ground against your sensitive nerves, you gasped. That fire only Alastor knew how to light withing was stoked.
It was wrong. You were laying in your husband’s blood but all you could think of was the way Alastor’s lips felt on your skin.
“Alastor, I’m free.” Tears ran down the sides of your face, slipping free from your eyes without you being aware.
“Will you be mine?” Alastor breathed the question in your ear, bloody lips leaving smears of red as they moved exeunt the soft skin. “Now that you’re not his?”
“I’ve always been yours.” You sighed into him, fingers flexing, bunching the fabric of his shirt.
“Mine,” Alastor sighed as his hand smoothed down your thigh, pushing the fabric of your skirt up higher until he was rewarded with the soft feeling of your warm skin under his bloody hands.
“Yours,” you agreed, trying to feel as much of him as you could. The suspender over his shoulder snapped down when you pushed it aside. Alastor’s hand left you just long enough to pull the other from his shoulder. “Only yours.”
“I will never share you again,” Alastor swore as his fingers reached high up your thighs.
You fumbled with buttons. One fell from your fingers, the thread holding it to the fabric having only just survived the fight but not having anything left to survive the need in you to feel his skin.
The cold blood smeared on the back of your legs soaked into Alastor’s pants as you wrapped your leg around his thigh, trying to pull him to you with everything you had.
Sparks ran through your body as his fingers pushed the gusset of your panties aside, connecting with the sensitive skin that from now on, he would be the only man to touch. You were slick and ready for him.
“Cher,” Alastor moaned as he pulled the slick up, spreading it through your folds as he ensured every bit of you would be protected from the friction. “I’ve waited so long for you.”
“Please, Alastor.” Your hands ran over his chest, buttons giving way to strong, warm muscles smeared red. Blood. It was alright, he did it because he was attacked. He killed to protect you.
His fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his pants. After a few short moments, the hot length of him rested against your inner thigh. Each beat of his heart was matched by a eager twitch. Heat radiated from him as the head of his cock smeared against your thigh, leaving a wet trail.
“I have to have you,” Alastor groaned. “Please, Cher. I’ve never wanted anyone, needed anyone. I have to have you.”
Instead of saying anything, you leaned up, kissing along the length of his neck. Blood smeared as you kissed down his neck, as he had done so often to you. The taste of copper filled your mouth as each kiss smeared more of Alastor’s tacky blood on your lips.
Reaching down between your bodies, you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. A soft groan poured into your ear as you caressed him. Though you had no experience with what you were doing, at least not with the active participation in the task, you enjoyed the way his head rubbed through your folds with each stroke.
His hips rocked slightly, matching the pace of your strokes. Then the head of his cock notched at your opening. A new wave of adrenaline flooded through your system as Alastor shuddered above you, pressure just enough to hold him in place as he looked down at you.
“Are you sure?” he asked, though if he was true to himself, he wasn’t sure he could survive you being anything less than sure.
He hated that part of himself. He hated the fact that you made him the same hungry beast he judged his peers for. It was only you, though, that he hungered for. Such a narrow need. He could live with that if you would only just give yourself to him.
“I need to know,” you kissed him again before continuing, “What it feels like to lie with the man I love.”
Alastor needed nothing more to be said. He would have you. His fingers gripped your hips as he pushed his head inside your slick, wet heat. You tensed under him as your abused walls fluttered, gripping and struggling to make way.
Alastor’s hips thrusted forward in slow, shallow movements. He knew your body was sore, that there were injuries that would still be easily aggravated. Each small thrust took him deeper into your body.
Below him, you gulped air into your lungs at the unfamiliar sensation. It stung as it felt like old wounds were ripping open, but the pain was minor, forgettable under the heavy feeling of slowly being filled.
It was more than you could take. Your back arched, dress sticking to the floor as he slowly pushed deeper inside. It should hurt. It should feel like you’re being ripped apart. Instead, it left you wanting more.
“Are you okay?” Alastor asked as your eyes fluttered closed.
“Good,” you sighed, leg twitching as you tried to pull him closer.
“It may hurt a little,” Alastor rocked his hips against you, still moving slow and shallow. “It won’t always, though, when you’ve healed from what was done to you.”
“More,” you said as you clung to him.
Alastor didn’t need to be told. His self control was hanging by a thread. Instead of continuing the conversation, he leaned down and kissed you. With a snap of his hips, he bottomed out inside you. He swallowed your gasp.
Your walls were not quick to accommodate him. His head spun with the way you gripped him, fluttering around him as he forced your body to take his length.
He wanted his first time with you to be soft, to be sweet, not like this. In a matter of minutes, he was rutting into you wildly as the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room.
You made a picture that was driving him insane. Blood smeared your skin, decorating you as your head fell back, lips parted as you finally learned how good being with a man could feel.
Another first.
Alastor’s eyes cut toward Laurence’s, now glassy. Your husband’s soulless eyes watched as Alastor wrapped his arm around your torso, pulling you up off the sticky floor. Your arms tightened around his shoulders as he held your torso to his chest.
Each thrust into you sent sparks of pleasure through you. His pubic bone and the neat hair traveling up from his cock rubbed your sensitive nub of nerves with each punishing thrust.
The smell of blood was thick in his nose as he supported his upper body with a hand planted on the blood-soaked ground. His other arm held you in place as he thrust up into you. Your cries of pleasure filled his ears as he felt you tighten around him.
Red-rimmed eyes looked again at the corpse. Alastor’s mother always told him when someone died, their soul lingered for a little while. It took time for the tether to the body and the living realm to fully sever.
It wasn’t something Alastor had really given thought to. He didn’t know what came after life and he wasn’t sure he believed anything came after for most except perhaps the most pure people, like his Ma, but he hoped she was right about this.
Alastor’s smile cut wider across his face as he thrust into you, feeling your walls flutter around his cock. He had felt those flutters with his fingers and knew your orgasm would be moments away.
“Mine,” Alastor told the corpse, fingers digging into your blood coated back as he thrust harder into you. He chanted the word, voice naked and full of possession with each thrust into you. “Mine. Mine. Mine.”
“Yours,” you choked on the word as your body clamped down on his cock. “Ah- Al- Alastor.”
You came with his name, broken but his, on your lips. Your head fell back as your body convulsed in his arms. Everything had felt so much better with Alastor. You’d been robbed of the pleasure that should have been laying with your husband for years.
He stole that from you. Used you. Took from you.
You understood now.
Alastor set you carefully on the ground, thrusting still into your fluttering walls.
“Mine,” he said as you cried out his name again, only to silence you both with a searing kiss.
His lips devoured you, tasting the blood on your lips and the sweet essence of you as he pistoned his hips, chasing his own release as you rode the waves of yours. He found it with a groan, muscles seizing with the power of it. It took everything he had to not clench his jaw as he pulled your lip between his teeth.
Oh, this was different. It was different with you. He wasn’t a child. He knew there was nothing somehow magically different about the biological process of an orgasm. The difference was his feelings, his love for you.
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Next?
Reader is drunk
Reader sees Alastor*
Reader: hey pretty man! Yyyyyoou look like a-a statue carved by an artist to look like a beautful GOD
Alastor: when you are sober I'm not gonna let you forget you said that
You, throwing your head into Alastor’s lap: Tell me I'm pretty!
Alastor, lovingly stroking your hair: You're pretty fucking annoying, that's what you are.
A/N: FFS, Kit stop telling people I lick doorknobs. For the record, I do not lick airport doorknobs. >:U ALSO! Wow! We already finished the first week! Let's keep it going!
SUMMARY: You betrayed Alastor once, back when you were alive—not out of desire, but because your family forced your hand. But now, in Hell, you've been given the chance to reunite with him. You loved him then, you love him now, and you still love him.
TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, sub/dom undertone, spanking, oral sex, fingering, p in v, gentle sex, alastor is bad with feelings
Alastor’s chest tightened, a tempest of emotion swirling just beneath the surface. Rage, jealousy, and a deep, aching need coiled around his heart, squeezing until it was impossible to think of anything but you. The words you had spoken earlier echoed relentlessly in his mind, like a haunting melody he couldn't escape.
You had mentioned the party—a festive celebration hosted by Voxtek. The way your eyes lit up, excitement flickering in your expression, had ignited a spark of something dark in him. At first, he demanded you stay, his voice sharper than he intended. But then you had looked at him, crestfallen, your bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. And he had relented.
Still, he knew.
He knew.
Vox was no fool; he was an opportunist. A conniving rat who always lingered too close, his smarmy words dripping like honey as he tried to worm his way into your good graces. At first, Alastor had laughed at the futility of it all. Vox might have charm, he might have power, but the truth was unshakable:
Alastor owned you. Your heart, your mind, your very soul—they all belonged to him. It wasn’t merely a matter of possession; it was an eternal truth etched into the fabric of existence itself.
And yet...
You...You...You...
...a despicable, awful, woman let that pathetic man touch you.
Now, in the shadowy alley behind the glittering building, his fingers trembled with a barely controlled fervour. The strains of distant holiday music were a cruel backdrop to the scene unfolding. Alastor’s tentacles curled possessively around your waist, hoisting you into the perfect position. Your body, pliant and eager, responded to him as it always did.
You were his. You would always be his.
He thrust into your mouth with a feral desperation, his cock sliding between your soft lips as if to reaffirm his claim. The wet, obscene sounds of your throat wrapped around him filled the air, mingling with his low, guttural groans. His sharp teeth shredded the delicate fabric of your panties, exposing the slick heat of your centre, and he let out a breathy moan as the scent of you clouded his senses.
“You’ve been naughty, my dear,” he hissed, his voice laced with a venomous sweetness as his tongue licked a slow, deliberate path along your folds. “Flaunting yourself before that ridiculous picture box—did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Your muffled cries, paired with the way your thighs quivered against his relentless grip, sent a jolt of satisfaction coursing through him. Each gag, every shuddering breath, was evidence of his dominance, a reminder of where you truly belonged.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his grin faltering for a fraction of a second—a rare, fleeting crack in his mask. “You make me into this... beast. And yet, I can’t stop. I won’t stop.”
His tongue plunged deeper, his lips pressing against your core with a fervent hunger, while his hips snapped forward, pushing himself further into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth. The juxtaposition of his lips worshipping your most intimate place while his cock ruthlessly claimed your throat was almost too much.
“You were mine long before you knew it,” he growled against your slick heat, his voice thick with emotion. His mind churned, unbidden memories surfacing of a time when things had been simpler.
He had first seen you in a haze of jazz and cigarette smoke, your laughter ringing out over the clinking of glasses. You, a beautiful flapper with stars in your eyes, had captivated him in a way nothing else had. For the first time in his life, he had felt alive. But then you had torn that life from him, walking away to marry a man of prestige, of power—a man who had sneered at Alastor’s kind.
And now, here you were again, in his grasp. He hated you for the way you had broken him back then. But he hated you even more for the way he still couldn’t let you go.
“You think I don’t remember?” he whispered darkly, his voice trembling as he withdrew from your mouth, his cock glistening with your spit. His eyes glowed crimson in the dim light, a twisted mixture of longing and loathing burning within them. “You think I don’t feel it every time you look at me? That guilt, that hesitation?”
He pressed his lips to your trembling thighs, his voice softening to a near-whisper. “But it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Because no matter what you do, no matter how far you run...”
His grin widened, sharp and dangerous, as he surged forward again, burying himself in you completely.
“You’ll always be mine.”
Alastor despised you.
Not in the fleeting, surface-level way one might dislike an inconvenience—but in the all-consuming manner that twisted his every thought into something jagged and raw. You haunted him, your voice like a phantom's whisper, your smile lingering like a scar on his chest. He despised you so much that he couldn’t stop thinking about you.
When the news reached him—whispers of your untimely death—his hatred burned brighter, fuelled by the injustice of it all. You had slipped through his fingers, robbing him of the satisfaction, the honour, of ending your life himself.
And yet, there you were in Hell, as if fate had conspired to deliver you into his hands. He had found you, fragile and broken, tears streaming down your face as you clung to him. When you willingly offered your soul, he should have revelled in his triumph. Instead, he had been caught off guard by the softness in your touch, the sincerity in your gaze. You were an enigma—a soul he craved, a woman who ignited both his wrath and his desire.
“Darling,” he growled, the word dripping with mockery as his hips pressed forward, his cock twitching against the back of your throat. His crimson eyes narrowed, his grin sharp and unyielding. “Did you forget who you belong to? Did you think that picture box would save you? Vox doesn’t care for you—or anyone, for that matter. He played you, just like every other man in your life.”
His voice cracked, bitterness weaving through his words like poison. He hated you for the way you charmed and manipulated, for the power you held over those foolish enough to believe your honeyed lies. But most of all, he hated you for making him one of them.
You were in Hell for a reason. And he had chosen to be your punishment—a torment crafted from your past sins and his boundless hatred. He wanted to destroy you, to remind you of what you truly were: a deceiver, a heartbreaker, a woman unworthy of the space you occupied in his mind.
And yet...
When he heard the soft, pitiful sobs you made as you struggled to take him, his resolve faltered. For a brief moment, the edges of his hatred blurred, giving way to something gentler. His thrusts slowed, becoming shallow and deliberate as his tongue traced languid paths through your slick folds.
“Even now,” he muttered against your trembling core, his voice softer, more uncertain, “you make me forget myself.”
The words of venom and rage faded into silence as he gave himself over to the intoxicating sensation of your body. He hated how easily you unravelled him, how the sound of your gasps and moans ignited something vulnerable within him. In truth, he wanted more than to punish you. He wanted to dote on you, to shower you with gifts, to claim you in every sense of the word.
He wanted to give you his heart.
But he couldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
You had fooled him once, and the memory of that betrayal still cut deep. He would not be made a fool again.
His grip on your thighs tightened as his lips closed around your clit, his thrusts quickening. The pleasure building within him became a storm, his breaths hitching as his release drew near. He groaned, a low, guttural sound muffled by your body, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself into you. His cock pulsed, his seed marking you, claiming you in a way words never could.
“Don’t waste a drop, darling,” he panted, his grin returning as he pulled back just enough to watch your trembling form. His gaze slid to your glistening, pulsing core, so close to release and yet untouched by his mercy.
The night was far from over.
Your punishment had only just begun.
Your legs trembled as Alastor set you upright, the ache between your thighs a pulsing reminder of the pleasure he’d denied you. Need coursed through your body, raw and unrelenting, as you struggled to catch your breath. Your lips still tingled with the taste of him, the ghost of his harsh, possessive thrusts lingering like an unshakable memory.
“Let’s go home, darling,” his voice was soft—a deadly whisper that cut through the quiet of the night, sending a shiver down your spine.
With practised precision, he smoothed the wrinkles in your dress, his movements strangely tender despite the chaos that had unfolded moments ago. His crimson eyes glowed in the darkness, piercing through the shadows like embers. You stared at him, and your heart twisted painfully in your chest.
Alastor was a contradiction.
He spoke to you with venomous disdain, fucked you with a ruthless edge that left you breathless and shaking, and yet… there were moments. Moments of sweetness so fleeting, so fragile, you wondered if even he realized they existed.
You knew why he was like this. You had hurt him.
The memory of your betrayal was a weight you carried, one you could never fully cast off. You hadn’t wanted to leave him, but circumstances had forced your hand. When the bills piled high and the well-being of your family hung in the balance, you had done what was necessary. You’d married another man—a man with wealth and power—at the cost of your own heart.
When you found Alastor again in Hell, it felt like a second chance. You had thrown yourself into his arms, your soul willingly offered to him without hesitation. But despite your efforts, his ever-present grin always seemed strained in your presence, a thin veneer that barely concealed the bitterness lurking beneath.
Tonight had been no different. Whatever fragile peace existed between you shattered the moment Vox kissed your hand—a simple, polite gesture. You barely had time to react before Alastor whisked you into the shadows, his jealousy erupting in a storm of raw, unrelenting possession.
On shaky knees, you reached out, your fingers brushing against a wrinkle in his suit, an instinctive gesture to calm him. But he recoiled instantly, his grin tightening, his eyes narrowing into sharp slits. The surrounding air buzzed with tension, his anger simmering just beneath the surface.
“Alas—” you began, desperate to explain, to assure him that Vox meant nothing, that he was the only one who mattered.
But Alastor silenced you with a clawed finger pressed firmly to your lips. His silent command was absolute, and you acquiesced, nodding meekly. He didn’t speak, instead seizing your wrist and hooking it through his arm with a rigid formality. To any onlooker, you were the picture of a lady being escorted by a gentleman—a perfect facade that belied the thick tension between you.
The walk back was agonizingly silent. Each click of your heels against the pavement echoed your unresolved tension, your body still humming with the unfulfilled promise of release. You dared a sidelong glance at him, your gaze searching for any crack in his grinning, stoic mask.
For a moment, his eyes met yours, glowing faintly in the dim light. His grip on your hand softened, his fingers covering yours in a gesture so gentle it made your breath hitch. It was fleeting, but it was enough to stir a faint, fragile hope in your chest.
Yet, the truth was undeniable: Alastor didn’t trust you.
He didn’t believe your words, no matter how many times you told him you loved him. Your declarations were met with laughter—sharp and dismissive, as if he were bracing himself for the moment you would betray him again.
Guilt crushed you, heavy and suffocating. You hadn’t known back then. You hadn’t understood the depth of his affection, the way he hid his true feelings behind that perpetual mask of joviality. You’d thought yourself a passing amusement to him, nothing more than a toy to be discarded when he grew bored.
But now you knew better.
You pressed closer to him, your body leaning into his. This time, he didn’t pull away. His arm remained firm, steady, as if silently allowing you this small comfort.
You wished, more than anything, that he could hear your heart. That he could see the truth etched into its fragile walls.
You wished he understood how happy you were to see him again after death, how you’d felt as if fate had granted you a second chance to be with him.
You wished he could believe you when you said you loved him.
Truly.
Wholly.
Sincerely.
The air in the room was heavy, charged with an energy that made your breath catch. As you stepped inside, your eyes fell on Alastor lounging in the armchair, his long legs crossed, one hand draped lazily over the side. For a fleeting moment, you saw him—the man he used to be.
You saw the earnest young radio host, his brown hair neatly combed, glasses perched on his nose with a faint sheen of determination in his gaze. His cherubic smile, so genuine and full of promise, flickered in your mind.
The man you’d fallen in love with.
But the illusion shattered as quickly as it appeared, replaced by gleaming crimson eyes and blood-red hair. His sharp grin stretched wide, the radio-static undertone in his voice a constant reminder of what he had become.
“Undress and come here, sweetheart,” he purred, his voice dripping with dangerous intent.
Your breath hitched, anticipation thrumming through your veins. You knew this game, this dance between the two of you, by heart. It was filthy. Debauched. Entirely improper for someone like you to even think of, let alone crave. And yet, Alastor always had a way of stripping you bare—not just of your clothes, but of every pretense, every wall you tried to erect.
Your fingers trembled as you reached for the clasps of your dress, his gaze burning into you with an intensity that made your skin flush. The plush fabric of the armchair yielded beneath his claws, his grip tightening as he tracked your every movement. His arousal was evident, the bulge in his trousers straining against the fabric. He was enjoying this, savouring the power he believed he wielded over you.
Slowly, deliberately, you let the dress slip from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. His sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed as his claws dug deeper into the armchair. Your underwear was long gone, already ripped to shreds earlier in a fit of his possessive anger. All that remained was your brassiere, the final barrier between you and his unrelenting gaze.
With a steady hand, you unhooked it, letting it fall to the floor. You stood before him, bare and vulnerable, his eyes raking over you like a predator sizing up his prey.
“Come,” he rasped, his voice hoarse with unbridled lust.
You dropped to your knees without hesitation, supplication etched into every movement as you crawled toward him. His fingers flew to his belt, unlooping it with deliberate slowness, savouring the moment. The unmistakable sound of his zipper filled the room, and finally, you found yourself nestled between his thighs.
His cock stood rigid and proud, the bead of pre-cum at its tip glistening in the dim light. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft kiss to the head, eliciting a sharp hiss from his lips.
“Will you forgive me, sir?” you whispered, your voice sultry and low, already sinking into the familiar role you played with him. Your fingers traced the length of his shaft, teasing the prominent vein that pulsed beneath your touch. “I’ve displeased you. How can I make it up to you?”
Your lips brushed against him again, dragging slowly from the tip to the base, each kiss a silent plea for forgiveness.
Alastor’s grin widened, his voice a low croon. “My, look at you,” he hissed, his claws tangling in your hair, gripping tight enough to make you moan. The sound was sinful, and his cock twitched in response, eager for more.
“Is this what you wanted?” he bit out, spreading his thighs wider, guiding you to lay across his lap.
You obeyed, your body draped over him, your hips raised slightly to expose yourself completely. His hardened length pressed against your side, the weight of him a reminder of the carnal desire you two shared. One of his hands stroked the curve of your ass, the sharp tips of his claws teased your folds, light enough to drive you mad with need.
“What will I do with you?” he murmured, his tone laced with anger. “Am I not enough? Will you leave me again for another man who can drape you in false promises and riches?”
His words were a sharp contrast to the seductive haze that had enveloped the room. You stilled, your brow furrowing as his voice wavered. For a moment, you heard something beneath the surface—something raw, something fragile.
Alastor’s mask cracked, if only for a heartbeat. That hitch in his voice, that tremble he tried to suppress, spoke volumes.
He sounded almost… vulnerable.
The tension in the room was palpable, every sound amplified by the quiet. You hesitated, glancing at Alastor’s face to gauge his mood. Concern flickered in your chest, but before you could speak, his hand shot up and came down sharply on your bare bottom.
The smack echoed through the room, and you lurched forward with a startled yelp. Your fingers instinctively gripped at his tailored suit pants, your cheeks flaming from both the slap and the molten heat pooling in your core. The sting spread across your skin, sharp and electric, and you couldn’t stop the way your body responded—wetness already slickening your thighs.
“Who else,” he hissed, his voice low and venomous, “would accept you like this but me, sweetheart?”
Before you could answer, his hand met your flesh again, harder this time, the force driving you against him. Pain bloomed across your backside, a delicious ache that made you gasp, a sob breaking free before you could swallow it down.
“How improper of you,” he grunted, delivering another slap. And another. Again and again, his strikes rained down, unrelenting, until your body trembled beneath him. By the sixth strike, your resolve shattered, replaced with a shameless moan as his fingers slipped inside you.
Three fingers plunged deep, spreading you with a squelch that made your face burn. His touch was deliberate, unyielding, and all-consuming. He curled his fingers just enough to brush against that sensitive spot within you, the one that always made you see stars.
“Hmm,” he mused, his tone cold and calculating. “This is supposed to be a punishment, but look at you,” he murmured mockingly. “You’re enjoying it, aren’t you?”
Your body betrayed you, hips bucking to meet his hand even as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The raw, stinging burn of his palm on your ass mingled with the intoxicating pleasure of his touch, leaving you reeling, your sobs interwoven with desperate mewls.
“Tell me, darling,” he growled, his voice darker, more guttural, “how many men have used this hole?” His fingers plunged deeper, reaching places that made your entire body shudder. “You’re insatiable, aren’t you? Wouldn’t you let any man take you? Any cad?”
His words stung worse than his strikes. There was no pretense now, no game of playful cruelty. His tone was raw, unfiltered, the sharp edges of genuine anger slicing through you.
You felt the first crack in your heart.
“That’s not true!” you cried, voice cracking as his fingers pressed mercilessly against that spot inside you. The pleasure was unbearable, teetering on the edge of pain, but the fissures in your heart hurt worse. “It’s not true!”
Tears welled up, spilling over as you trembled against him. “It’s not…” your voice broke into a whisper, trailing off as he stilled, his fingers buried deep but unmoving.
You wished...
You wished he could hear your heart.
“Alastor…” you whispered his name, turning your head to meet his gaze. Your vision blurred with tears, the crimson glow of his eyes melting into the haze. “Alastor,” you repeated, voice trembling, your breath hitching on every syllable.
Would he believe you? If he could see past his bitterness and anger, if he could look into the depths of your heart, would he understand?
“Alastor, I—”
Whatever you were about to say was cut off as he yanked you up, positioning you to straddle his lap. His cock pressed against your abdomen, rigid and insistent.
Before you could process it, his hand tangled in your hair, dragging you down into a bruising kiss. His lips crushed against yours with a ferocity that left no room for tenderness. It was rough, messy, and possessive. Your carefully styled hair tumbled from its pins, falling around your face in wild, chaotic waves.
His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, drawing a gasp from you that he swallowed eagerly, his mouth relentless. The kiss was as biting as his words, filled with frustration, anger, and something deeper he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—admit.
It was a kiss meant to silence, to dominate. But beneath the chaos, you could feel it: his desperation, his need. As his claws raked gently down your spine, you wished again, silently, achingly, that he could believe you. That he could see your love laid bare.
You closed your eyes, surrendering to the storm of his touch—the cruel, the cold, the gentle, the warm. It was everything that made Alastor who he was, a paradox of a man who commanded both fear and fascination. Despite the sharp edges of his demeanour, the unrelenting cruelty of his words, you couldn’t deny the truth in your chest. You had fallen for him once, and even after death, that love hadn’t faded.
A single tear escaped, tracing a hot line down your cheek before breaking free, a silent testament to the emotions welling within you. But that solitary drop was only the beginning, soon, more tears spilled freely, one after another. Still, your fingers curled tightly into his lapels, pulling him closer, refusing to let go.
His breath hitched, and his trembling fingers brushed against your cheeks, wiping away the tears in hurried, almost desperate strokes. But for every tear he caught, more followed. His touch was achingly gentle, a whisper against your skin that made your heart ache.
Without a word, he lifted you effortlessly, cradling you as if you were something fragile. The earlier roughness of his kisses softened, turning into feather-light brushes and tender licks against your swollen lips, soothing the wound he had created in a moment of heated passion.
The world blurred as he carried you to the bed, laying you down with a reverence that made your chest tighten. Slowly, deliberately, he began shedding his clothes, each piece falling away until he stood bare before you. Vulnerable. Honest. For once, he hid nothing.
He joined you, his weight sinking the mattress beneath you. His lips traced the tear-streaked paths on your cheeks, pressing reverent, almost apologetic kisses to each salty trail. His red eyes softened, glowing dimly, as if they too bore the weight of his unspoken emotions.
“Alastor,” you whispered, voice trembling, your hands cupping his face. “I love you.”
He stilled, his gaze locking with yours, searching for something—doubt, deception, anything to justify his disbelief. But all you could wish was for him to see your sincerity.
“How silly of you, darling,” he murmured, his voice low, tinged with a faint tremor. He leaned closer, his body caging yours, until your vision was filled with nothing but him. “How awfully silly of you…”
His words trailed off into a kiss, his lips brushing yours with uncharacteristic gentleness. The weight of his body pressed against you as the head of his cock nudged your entrance, his movements slow and deliberate. He filled you inch by inch, a quiet exhale escaping his lips as he stilled, buried deep within you.
Your arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer. “Alastor,” your voice cracked, thick with emotion. Tears welled in your eyes again, the ache in your chest threatening to consume you. “Alastor, I promise you—” Another tear slipped free, trailing down to join the others. “You’re the only one I’ve ever loved.”
Your lips trembled as you pulled him into another kiss, soft and tender, pouring every ounce of your love into him.
For a moment, his body tensed, his muscles locking as if bracing against something too painful to bear. Then, as if a switch flipped, the vulnerability in his expression shattered, replaced by that cruel, familiar grin.
“Do you now?” he sneered, his tone laced with mockery. Without warning, he pulled back and slammed his hips forward, driving into you with enough force to make you cry out.
“Do you,” he hissed, his voice ragged as he thrust into you with a brutal rhythm, “say that to every hapless chum who gets to fuck you?”
His pace quickened, each thrust harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. The bed groaned beneath you, its protests rhythmic and loud, but you barely heard it over the pounding of your heart.
Tears streamed down your face again, but this time, they carried the weight of anguish and longing.
You wished, oh, how you desperately wished he could hear your heart.
If he could, he might understand the truth in every word you spoke, the depth of your love that not even death could diminish. But as his sharp movements pushed you closer to the edge of bliss and despair, you realized he wasn’t ready to hear it—not yet.
Each thrust pulled fragmented cries from your lips, your breath hitching in broken rhythm, tears pooling and spilling from your eyes. But amidst the tears, you smiled at him. That smile—he’d always said it was your best feature, hadn’t he?
Your trembling hands rose toward him in a gesture of surrender, of devotion, as you spoke the words again. “I love you,” you whispered, voice quaking but resolute.
No matter how many times it took.
No matter how many years it took.
You would keep saying it until he believed you.
“I love you, Alastor,” you repeated, your smile radiant despite the ache in your chest, a smile that was both a gift and a plea. The words came from somewhere deep inside, a place untouched by bitterness or regret. They were the words you knew he longed to hear, words that should have been exchanged long ago when you were both young, innocent, and untouched by the cruel weight of time and tragedy.
His hips faltered, the relentless rhythm stuttering for a moment. His breath quickened, and his crimson eyes flickered with something too raw, too human. His ever-present grin tightened, becoming almost brittle. He shook his head as though to dispel your words, to reject them outright. But before you could catch the emotions flickering behind his crimson gaze, he buried his face in the crook of your neck.
His breath was hot against your skin, and his movements shifted. The sharp, punishing pace gave way to something slower, something more deliberate. He rolled his hips, dragging each motion out, as though savouring every second.
Your hand moved to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands. You pressed your cheek against his head, holding him close. He released a shuddering breath, his chest heaving against yours, and the tension in his shoulders began to soften.
His lips found your neck, planting small, tentative kisses along the delicate skin before he sucked gently, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.
“Say it again, darling,” he murmured, the edge in his voice softened, though a cruel laugh still escaped him. “Go on, tell me your hilarious lies.”
But his arms tightened around you, holding you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to this world.
“You always were the best liar,” he added, though his words wavered, and his voice dropped to a whisper so quiet you barely heard it. “...Cher.”
Your heart clenched. If only he could see it—if only he could feel the truth that pulsed there with every beat.
“I love you, Alastor,” you said again, this time brushing a kiss to his head. Your voice was steady, your words unwavering. “I’m happy to be here with you.”
He shuddered, his movements continuing at their deliberate pace. Each stroke dragged the head of his cock along your walls before plunging back in, drawing soft moans from your lips that mingled with his quiet gasps. The symphony of shared pleasure seemed to echo in the room, each sound weaving together, building into something raw and tender.
“A-again,” he gasped, lifting his head. His forehead pressed against yours, his crimson eyes locking with yours, the intensity in them almost overwhelming. “Again...cher.”
You cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. “I love you,” you said, the words flowing as naturally as breathing. “I do.”
His lips captured yours, hungry but not desperate, and he kissed you again and again, as if each kiss could carve the truth of your words into his soul. He pressed against all the places that made your body sing, his gentle rhythm slowly driving you closer to the peak of pleasure.
Your body tensed, every muscle quivering as you neared your release. He stayed with you, maintaining the same steady pace, his hips rocking against yours with a tenderness that stole your breath.
“Again,” he moaned, his voice raw with need. “Cher...cher...cher,” he chanted the endearment like a prayer, each repetition pulling you closer to him in every way.
And you gave it freely, your voice trembling with devotion and truth. “I love you, Alastor. Always.”
The words trembled on your lips, broken by the ebb and flow of your breath. “I—I love you,” you gasped, your body taut with tension. The heat coiling low in your abdomen finally snapped, and a wave of pleasure cascaded through you, its intensity both gentle and consuming.
Your walls clenched around him, drawing a guttural moan from Alastor as he shuddered above you. His breaths grew ragged, each thrust slower but deeper, as he chased his release.
“Oh, cher,” he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions as his climax overtook him. His cock pressed as far into you as it could go, and with a deep groan, he spilled into you.
For a moment, the world went silent. The only sounds were your uneven breaths mingling with his, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
And then you saw it—just for a fleeting instant.
His crimson eyes softened, the hardened mask of indifference slipping. It was the same look he gave you back then, during those nights at Mimzy’s speakeasy when he’d watch you perform from the shadows, his gaze filled with quiet adoration. Back when your love was a tender, secret thing, untouched by the cruelty of time.
Your heart swelled, and you smiled at him, hopeful.
But the moment shattered like glass.
Alastor blinked once, twice, and then the mask returned. He pulled away abruptly, leaving a cold emptiness where his warmth had been. The sudden rush of air prickled against your skin, and his release spilled from you, unwelcome and raw.
“Well,” he began, laughter forced and hollow. “That was quite the performance, wasn’t it?” His grin stretched wide, but it lacked its usual bite, his eyes darting anywhere but to yours.
The sight of his softening cock, glistening with the evidence of your union, seemed to mock the tenderness that had just been shared.
“Now, run along,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. His tone was too sharp, too loud. “I’ve had my fun, and I’m done with you.”
Each word cut deeper than the last.
You sat up slowly, the ache in your body a bitter reminder of the connection you had just shared. His ears flicked back for the briefest second, betraying the tension he couldn’t hide. His claws dug into his thigh, his knuckles white with restraint, as he avoided your gaze.
You could have left. Perhaps he expected you to.
But instead, you moved closer.
Crawling onto his lap, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight. He stiffened immediately, his hands flying up in hesitation, hovering uncertainly in the space between you.
“I won’t be the one to walk away this time, Alastor,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest. You pressed yourself closer, your warmth meeting his cold edges.
His breath hitched, and his hands hovered, trembling, before finally coming to rest against your back.
“If you want me to leave,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to meet his wide, startled eyes, “then you’ll have to be the one to walk away.”
For a moment, time stood still. The air between you was heavy, laden with the weight of unspoken truths and unresolved desires.
And then, in that fragile space where the past, present, and future seemed to blur, Alastor’s arms closed around you. Tight. Almost desperate.
His hold was not gentle, but it was real.
You rested your head against his shoulder, and for the first time that night, you allowed yourself to believe that perhaps—just perhaps—he had seen your heart, if only a little.
And you held on to that sliver of hope, knowing it was all you had.
For tonight, it was enough.
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A/N: Please note! I'm still away with limited to no access to internet! Now, let’s talk about this story. A couple of quick notes: originally, I had a mini-series planned as a gift fic for @redfoxwritesstuff similar to this prompt. So, naturally, I decided to hijack the prompt and turn it into a little taste test of what you can expect from me next year. Also, fair warning—this one-shot is long AF. Enjoy! Also Kit said this was a very fluffy-wuffy story ✨️
SUMMARY: When Alastor summons a demon to strike a deal, he’s horrified to discover the entity is none other than his future self—a twisted, unrecognizable Overlord of Hell. The price for their agreement? Allowing his future counterpart a single night with you. But as the night unfolds, the deal unravels, and Alastor is confronted with a vision of his destiny and a choice.
TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, demon alastor, human alastor, period typical racism, reader is white for plot reason, p in v, cucking, big smoll sad, it made kit's eyes water lol, time travel, human!alastor is a jerk, human!alastor is bad with feelings, @safination i'm not here right now so you have my permission to lovingly yell at Kit.
When Alastor, your enigmatic and ever-poised boss, had called you for the first time early evening, asking you to meet him in his office, your heart thudded wildly, teetering between anticipation and trepidation. Alastor never went out of his way to summon you—it was always you lingering behind, staying past your hours, quietly soaking in his presence as he worked tirelessly.
This was different.
It felt intimate.
You’d spent an hour preparing, choosing your best dress—a sleek, elegant number that hugged your form just enough to be alluring without being improper. A touch of makeup brought colour to your cheeks, but not too much; you wanted to be perfect, to catch his eye. Yet, despite your efforts, you knew how he would react. Alastor’s gaze was always detached, his smile fixed, his brow quirking only slightly when you adorned yourself in jewels or dresses that begged for attention. Still, you couldn’t help but try, craving even the smallest acknowledgement.
But what bound you to Alastor wasn’t something you could ever flaunt. It was your secret—a dangerous one that you carried with trembling hands and a racing heart. The two of you were entangled in a forbidden affair, one that defied both class and the suffocating bigotry of your family.
Alastor was beneath your station—a man your father would see erased from existence if he ever knew. Worse still, he wasn’t even of your race, a detail that would ensure not just scorn, but ruination.
Despite the risks, you couldn’t quell the fervent pulse of your heart or the fire that grew with every lingering glance, every stolen moment. You loved him. But you would never dare breathe those words aloud. Love, you were certain, would drive him away, or worse, force him to sever your professional ties altogether. No, you resolved to bury it deep within you, content to simply bask in his presence, treasuring every fleeting second by his side.
The taxi ride to the radio station felt eternal, every bump on the road a reminder of your growing tension. Your stomach coiled with a delicious, agonizing heat, your mind a swirl of fantasies about what the night might hold. Would his hands be on you? His voice—a low, sultry murmur in your ear? You had lied with practised ease to your mother, telling her you were meeting a friend, knowing the scandal it would incite if anyone knew you were alone with an unmarried man in the dead of night.
You stepped through the radio station doors, your pulse hammering like a drumbeat in your ears. Each step toward his office sent a ripple of nerves through you, your hand trembling as you raised it to knock. The soft rap of your knuckles against the wood echoed in the empty hall.
“Come in,” came the familiar cadence of Alastor’s voice, low and steady, but there was a rasp beneath it that made your skin prickle.
As you pushed the door open, your breath caught in your throat. The world seemed to tilt, your vision narrowing to the abomination lounging in Alastor’s chair. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.
The creature was grotesque, its twisted form a nightmare made flesh. Its grin stretched impossibly wide, revealing too many sharp, glistening teeth. Your knees threatened to give out as you stumbled back, a trembling hand flying to cover your mouth.
“S-Sir,” you stammered, your voice a feeble whisper. Tears welled in your eyes as you pointed a shaking finger at the monstrosity before you. Your mind screamed at you to flee, but your legs felt as if they’d been turned to lead.
And at that moment, all the fantasies, the yearning, the secret desires—all of it shattered, leaving you drowning in a sea of terror.
In the chair where Alastor usually sat was a figure so utterly alien, so menacing, that your breath hitched in your throat. Your eyes widened, taking in every horrifying detail.
The creature’s stark, blood-red hair fell in a sharp bob, the blackened tips framing his face with an eerie precision. Two tufts of hair atop his head mimicked ears, their softness betraying the menace of the antler-like bones that protruded from his skull. These jagged horns gleamed under the low light, their surface polished and unyielding. The skin stretched over his sharp features was a ghostly grey, as if every drop of blood had been leached from his body. His long claws glistened, crimson as though freshly dipped in blood, and their razor-like points promised destruction with a single swipe.
His choice of attire was oddly elegant—a dapper, pin-striped red suit that hung impeccably on his tall frame, paired with a crimson shirt beneath. The vivid fabric clung to him, amplifying the danger in his already striking presence. When his gaze lifted to yours, your stomach churned. His eyes were an unsettling sea of red, the sclera and iris indistinguishable except for the black, slit-like pupils that seemed to pierce straight into your soul.
“Why, hello there!” the monster greeted you, his voice dripping with exaggerated joviality. The sound was layered with static, like a distorted broadcast through a radio, dissonant and grating against your ears.
As he rose from the chair, his height became even more terrifying. The tattered ends of his jacket fluttered slightly, like the remnants of a garment torn through battles untold. He was impossibly tall, towering so far above you that even Alastor’s impressive stature seemed diminutive in comparison.
“You’ve arrived pretty quickly,” a familiar voice interrupted your spiralling fear, anchoring you for a brief moment. Your head snapped toward the sound, and relief flooded your chest as your boss came into view. Alastor was seated on the plush couch to the side, his elbow resting on the armrest, one hand pressed to his temple as though nursing a splitting headache.
“S-sir,” you called out, your voice trembling as you instinctively shuffled closer to him. Every nerve in your spine prickled, the weight of the monster’s unblinking gaze crawling over you like bugs. He grinned wider—unnaturally so—his yellowed teeth gleaming in the dim light, the corners of his mouth stretching impossibly far, as if the act of smiling alone was tearing his face apart.
Alastor rose fluidly from the couch, his presence commanding despite the monstrous figure looming nearby. With a calmness that baffled you, he reached out and took your trembling hand, his touch steady and grounding as he gently pulled you closer to his body.
Your heart raced, your cheeks burning as his fingers brushed against your skin. You tilted your head up, seeking answers in his expression, but his whisky brown eyes were unreadable, his smile just as enigmatic as always. Why wasn’t he alarmed by the abomination in his office?
“My dear,” Alastor purred, his deep voice resonating through you like a caress. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and your head instinctively dipped, your gaze lowering to his polished shoes. Heat rushed through your veins as your body unconsciously fell into a submissive pose, the practised habit of yielding to his authority deeply ingrained from the private games you’d shared.
His chuckle was warm, teasing, a sound that both soothed and tingled your nerves. He lifted a hand, his long fingers tilting your chin upward with an almost tender touch. His smile softened, though it remained wicked at the edges.
“I need you to do me a favour, darling,” he murmured, his voice soft yet commanding, the undertones so addicting you felt yourself nodding before the words fully registered.
“A-anything, sir,” you stammered, your voice trembling with unease. Instinctively, your fingers twitched toward him, longing for reassurance, but you stopped yourself, letting your hands fall to your sides. You knew better—Alastor disliked being touched without his permission, and crossing that line would only make things worse.
His grin widened, a sinister curve that sent a chill down your spine. For a moment, it mirrored the demon’s unsettling smile, sharp and predatory. “Excellent,” he mused, his tone deceptively light. Then, with an elegant step back, he distanced himself from you, leaving a void where his warmth had been. You shivered, feeling the icy tendrils of isolation creep in.
Turning his attention to the monster, Alastor tilted his head, his expression unreadable but his voice cutting like a blade. “You see, my little assistant would do anything for me.” His chuckle was dry, short, and devoid of emotion—a sound you were intimately familiar with. “So, do what you will with her, and we’ll conclude our arrangement.”
The words struck like a thunderclap, dousing you in a cold wave of shock. Your body froze, your mind racing to process what he had just said. You turned to him, wide-eyed and pleading, hoping—praying—for some sign that this was a cruel joke, a test of your devotion. But the cold detachment in his dull, brown eyes offered no comfort.
The monster loomed closer, his presence suffocating, his malevolent aura wrapping around you like a vice. Your chest tightened as fear clawed its way up your throat, and you finally understood. Alastor had summoned this being—a blasphemous act, all for some dark purpose. Was this your fate? Had he lured you here to offer you as a sacrifice?
Tears burned in your eyes, the sting mingling with the sharp ache in your chest. Your nose tingled as you fought to hold back a sob. You had said you would do anything for him, but now the weight of that promise crushed you.
Would you die for him?
Could you?
The monster’s low, guttural chuckle rumbled through the room, a sound that vibrated in your very bones. His eyes glowed with a hellish light, his razor-sharp teeth gleaming as his grin widened, promising pain. You hiccuped, your trembling gaze darting back to Alastor, silently begging him to stop whatever horror he had set in motion.
As the monster drew closer, his towering form engulfed you. You whimpered, your eyes squeezing shut, bracing yourself for the agony you were certain would follow. But instead of searing pain, there was a gentle touch—a feather-light brush of fingers against your skin.
Cautiously, you opened your eyes, your breath hitching as you met his gaze. The malevolence was gone, replaced by something softer, almost…tender. His grin had dulled, the sharpness of his teeth no longer as menacing.
“My, I was such a bully to you, wasn’t I, cher?” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as though not to startle you. Gently, he lifted your trembling hand, his clawed fingers cradling it with surprising care. His eyes fluttered closed as he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand, the unexpected tenderness unravelling the knot of fear in your chest.
“Al…Alastor?” The name slipped from your lips unbidden, your voice barely above a whisper. This creature looked nothing like your boss, yet his mannerisms—the way he spoke, the delicate way he touched you—felt achingly familiar.
The monster’s eyes snapped open, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Slowly, his gaze locked onto yours, the intensity in his glowing red eyes pinning you in place. His body shifted closer, his towering frame crowding you, but without the suffocating malice from before.
One hand slid to rest gently on your hip, the other cupping your cheek with a touch so light it felt like a whisper against your skin. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles, brushing the warmth of your cheek as though memorizing every detail.
“You’re as beautiful as I remember you to be, cher,” he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. The words were spoken as if they were meant for you alone, a secret shared in the space between your breaths. The tenderness in his tone sent a pang through your chest, your fear melting into confusion, longing, and something deeper—something that tugged at the very core of you.
Your eyes darted past the monster, seeking the warmth and steadiness of Alastor’s familiar brown gaze, but he wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he busied himself with tidying the scattered books on the floor, his movements precise, almost indifferent.
“I suppose you’d like an explanation?” The monster’s voice lilted with amusement, the tone grating against your raw nerves.
You tried to speak, to demand answers, but your throat felt constricted, the weight of fear pressing your lips shut. What could you possibly say when confronted with something so unnatural, so wrong?
The monster’s grin widened as he studied your silence, his laughter cutting through the tension like jagged glass. “My younger, alive self, I might add,” he began, voice dripping with mockery, “decided it would be a brilliant idea to summon a demon. And what a surprise—I managed to transcend time itself, back to when I still drew breath. Ha!”
He chuckled, the sound lighthearted, as if he were recounting an amusing anecdote instead of explaining your potential doom. With an unsettling ease, he began to sway you side to side, guiding your body like a puppet, as though a melody only he could hear played in his mind.
“W-what?” you stammered, your voice barely audible, the weight of his words sinking in.
The demon leaned closer, his glowing red eyes narrowing as he held you in his gaze. “You see, cher, your dear father was planning to pull out his support. Said the new age of entertainment was approaching,” he purred, his tone lowering, his words curling like smoke around you. “He claimed the radio was a dying medium. Can you imagine?”
Your heart stuttered, the implication dawning on you in jagged pieces.
Before you could process further, the demon pulled back, his face twisted into an unsettlingly cheerful grin. “So,” he continued, his voice unnervingly jovial, “my younger self decided to strike a deal with me.”
Without warning, he yanked you closer, your body pressed firmly against his towering frame. His claws trailed lightly along your arm, his grip firm yet almost reverent as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. His sharp teeth flashed in a grotesque mockery of a smile as he leaned in, his words soft and poisonous.
“Help him convince your father to keep his investment in the radio business,” he explained, “and in return, I get you—for one night. However I please.” He sighed wistfully, as if the thought alone was a gift.
“I…” The swirl of emotions in your chest was unbearable—fear, disgust, betrayal, and a growing sense of dread. Your stomach churned, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. The enormity of what he was saying crashed down on you like a tidal wave. Alastor had sold you. Sold you to this…this demon for a fleeting deal.
Your voice wavered, cracking under the weight of your panic. “P-pl-please,” you whimpered, trembling in his grasp. “I-I can convince my father. I swear—please, just don’t hurt me.” A tear slipped down your cheek, hot and bitter, the first of many as your resolve crumbled into despair.
Behind the demon, Alastor’s voice cut through the moment, sharp and impatient. “Think of it as another…act,” he said with an air of dismissal, waving his hand as though the entire situation was trivial. His arms crossed over his chest, his expression tight with irritation. “I’m ordering you, for one night, to experience pleasure with another man, ah, rather an otherworldly being. Surely, you love following my orders, don’t you?”
His grin was forced, brittle at the edges, and his gaze was devoid of the warmth you had once clung to. The coldness in his voice pierced you deeper than the demon’s claws ever could.
Something deep within you cracked, a fracture so profound it reverberated through your entire being. The tears came harder now, streaking down your cheeks in silence as the pain hollowed out your chest. Your voice faltered, swallowed by the void left behind by his betrayal. You were adrift, unmoored, and utterly broken.
Before you could fully crumble in the demon’s arms, his voice cut through the storm of your emotions, soft yet laced with disapproval. “My, my, my,” he sighed, shaking his head with an air of mock disappointment. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the air crackled, and tendrils of shadow unfurled from the floor like living smoke. They coiled around Alastor’s limbs, binding him in place.
“Hey—” Alastor managed to bark before one of the tendrils silenced him, curling tightly over his mouth. His eyes burned with malice, glaring daggers at the demon. The raw hatred radiating from him sent a shiver cascading down your spine.
The demon tutted, wagging a clawed finger as though scolding a misbehaving child. “Tsk, tsk. I’m quite certain our mother taught us better manners when it comes to treating the fairer sex, wouldn't you agree?” he chided, the red monocle adorning his eye gleaming in the dim light like a sly wink directed at you.
He turned his attention back to you, and before you could shrink away, his arms enfolded you in a firm embrace. “Now, now, cher,” he murmured, his voice a warm, honeyed drawl. “No need for tears. I dare say, I’m truly amazed. Imagine… falling in love with me, despite everything.” His head tilted, amusement dancing in his crimson gaze as his grin softened ever so slightly.
Your muscles locked, your mind too frazzled to process his words. Your wide eyes remained fixed on Alastor, bound and seething within the shadowy restraints. “P-please, Mr. Demon, y-you’re hurting him,” you stammered, trembling as helplessness gripped your frame.
“Oh, sweet thing, don’t you worry about him,” the demon cooed, his tone light yet edged with a strange finality. “And for the record, I’d prefer it if you called me Al.”
“A-Al?” The name felt foreign on your tongue as you hesitantly turned your gaze back to him.
“That’s right,” he replied with a theatrical flourish, a microphone staff materializing in his hand out of thin air. He stepped back, spreading his arms as though addressing an invisible audience. “Allow me to properly introduce myself!” His grin widened, impossibly sharp. “I am Alastor—the Radio Demon. I hail from the future, though I come bearing tidings from Hell itself! It's a pleasure to meet you, again! Haha!” His laughter echoed, rich and chilling. “But for you, my darling, you may simply call me Al. I much prefer it that way.”
His words sank in like stones, heavy and impossible. This demon… this creature who had embraced you so intimately… was Alastor. Your Alastor. The very thought clawed at your sanity, pulling you deeper into the pit of madness.
“How… how is this possible?” you whispered, the question barely audible over the hammering of your heart.
His response was another snap of his fingers, the sound sharp and commanding. The plush sofa in the corner of the room shimmered and transformed, warping into a small, inviting bed.
“Anything is possible with a little magic, darling,” he said with a devilish grin, his hand slipping to the small of your back, guiding you toward the bed. His voice dropped, a velvet purr curling through his words. “And my time here is fleeting. So, cher, allow me this one indulgence—to feel you once more, as I’ve longed to do.”
“Y-you’re Alastor,” you murmured, your voice soft, trembling as your mind wavered on the precipice of disbelief and reluctant acceptance. It felt surreal, like a twisted fairy tale brought to life.
“The one and only,” he declared with a radiant grin that sent a jolt of familiarity straight to your heart. For a moment, your breath hitched. That smile—it was Alastor’s, unmistakably his. The way his lips curled, the self-assured confidence radiating from him—it mirrored the expression you’d seen so many times after his broadcasts, a smile brimming with satisfaction and happiness.
But now, that smile belonged to this—to him.
As he followed you to the bed, his movements unhurried yet purposeful, you found yourself sinking into the mattress, your body trembling with a cascade of emotions you couldn’t contain. The instant he sat beside you, you threw your arms around his neck, clutching him as though he might vanish into smoke if you let go. Pressing your face against his chest, you whispered, voice quivering under the weight of your heartache, “W-why are you in Hell?”
Tears spilled freely, soaking into the fine fabric of his jacket. Your words, soft and trembling, carried a deeper pain than you realized. “Why?” you repeated, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, your blurred vision making his grin all the more surreal.
The concept of Hell clawed at your mind—a place of endless torment, unimaginable cruelty, and eternal suffering. The thought of Alastor, your Alastor, enduring such a fate twisted your stomach into knots. Your hands, trembling with hesitation and sorrow, rose to frame his face. The grin on his lips remained unchanged, unfaltering, though its presence felt like a knife plunged into your chest.
“I-is it scary?” you asked, voice breaking under the weight of your despair. “Is it… painful?” The tears came harder now, spilling like a deluge, each one carrying another fragment of your breaking heart. “Is there…” you hiccuped, searching his eyes for something, anything, “…anything I can do? To…to save your soul?”
For a moment, he froze, his crimson eyes fixed on you. Then his lips parted, and laughter spilled forth—a sound both melodic and unhinged, a discordant symphony that sent shivers rippling across your skin.
“Oh, my!” he exclaimed between peals of manic laughter, his head tilting unnaturally. With a sickening crack, his neck twisted in a full circle, the motion so grotesque you flinched. He turned his warped grin toward the immobilized Alastor, bound by shadows in the corner of the room. “She doesn’t know?” he howled, the sound echoing as though bouncing off invisible walls. “Hahaha! She doesn’t know! Oh, this is rich!”
You stared, frozen in both awe and horror, as the man you loved unravelled into something far stranger, far darker. The resemblance to Alastor was undeniable—the mannerisms, the way he carried himself—but there was something else, too. Something foreign, something… wrong. He was a blurred reflection, a distorted echo of the man you thought you knew.
Without warning, his head snapped back to face you. Before you could process the movement, his lips descended on yours, the suddenness of it stealing your breath. You stiffened, your body rigid with shock. But then his lips moved, tender and familiar, in the exact way Alastor used to kiss you. The familiarity melted your resolve, and against your better judgment, your fingers brushed against the lapels of his jacket.
His hand came to rest on yours, gently clasping your trembling fingers.
“Cher,” he murmured, his voice a soft, aching melody. His lips brushed against yours again, as though afraid this moment would slip away. “Oh, how I’ve missed you, cher,” he whispered, the raw longing in his tone unravelling something deep inside you.
He pressed you back onto the bed, his weight settling over you like a ghost of memories long past. If you closed your eyes, you could almost convince yourself it was him—your Alastor. It was so easy to believe it was his hands, his voice, his breath against your skin.
“I’m not… with you...down there?” you whispered, your voice breaking as he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, breaths mingling.
For a fleeting moment, something unspoken flickered in his crimson eyes—pain. Then it was gone, replaced by his ever-present grin. “Of course not, silly girl,” he said, his voice laced with a deceptive lightness. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his touch gentle despite the shadows that clung to him.
“Your soul, of course, went to Heaven,” he continued with a wistful chuckle. “How could it not? You’re far too pure, too precious for the likes of Hell.” His words were tender, yet they carried an undertone of something far darker. Something that left you both mesmerized and terrified.
The way Al held you was intimate, possessive, and far too tender to be anything other than the embrace of a lover. It was as though, in some distant future, you and he were entwined in a life you could only dream of.
Could it be true?
Your gaze shifted to Alastor, who was furiously struggling against the shadow tendrils pinning him in place. The sight of his thrashing form, his narrowed eyes burning with frustration, sent your heart pounding. The sound of your pulse roared in your ears as conflicting thoughts raced through your mind.
Perhaps, in the future, the world had changed—laws once meant to keep you apart finally lifted. Perhaps Alastor had grown to see you, not as an assistant, but as someone worthy of his love. Perhaps, together, you’d built a life, a family, and shared moments of happiness you could scarcely imagine now.
But then, a darker thought surfaced. Perhaps Alastor had died, his soul condemned to Hell. If that was true, and this demon before you was proof of that fate, would your future self feel the same unbearable ache at being parted from him for eternity?
Tears welled in your eyes as the thought took root, threatening to undo you entirely. You buried your face against Al’s chest, his warmth anchoring you as you fought to calm the whirlwind of emotions. Hugging him tightly, you slowed your breathing, trying to chase away the storm of uncertainty.
“I…” you started, but your voice faltered. You cast a glance back at Alastor, still bound and silenced, his struggle relentless. The words caught in your throat, and you pressed your lips tightly together, unwilling to voice your fears.
“What’s wrong, cher?” Al whispered against your hair, his voice soothing and laced with curiosity. He began peppering light kisses across your forehead and hairline, each touch feather-soft yet disarming. “Is it something you don’t want my present self to hear?”
Your body tensed in surprise. How had he read your thoughts so clearly?
He grinned mischievously, a spark of devilish delight flashing in his crimson eyes. With a sharp snap of his fingers, the shadow tendrils tightened around Alastor’s head, shrouding his eyes and ears. “There. Now he can’t see or hear us!” Al giggled, his claws tracing idle patterns down your arm before moving to the buttons of your dress.
“I never told you how much I admired your dresses, did I, cher?” he murmured, his tone dipping low, intimate.
“W-what?” you stammered, breath hitching as his fingers worked with slow precision, unfastening each button one by one.
“You always tried so hard to catch my attention,” he said, his voice husky, tinged with regret. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a tender kiss. “And I, stubborn fool that I am, ignored the signs—despite my obvious interest in you.”
Another kiss landed on your other collarbone, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. His words sent a shiver coursing through you. “Have we made love yet, cher?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Love? The word echoed in your mind, foreign yet tantalizing. You and Alastor had shared moments, stolen kisses, and even acts of passion, but love…? You weren’t sure if anything between you had ever been tender enough to call it that.
Your silence was answer enough. Al hummed softly, his lips quirking upward. “I suppose that tells me where I am in the timeline,” he mused, his fingers gliding over your skin as he peeled your dress away.
His sharp inhale was audible, his hands reverent as they traced your bare form. He cupped the curve of your breast with a featherlight touch, his claws grazing your skin before sliding down to rest at your navel. The intensity of his gaze made you feel both vulnerable and cherished, and your heart ached at the dichotomy between his tenderness and the sharp edge of danger he exuded.
“Such beauty,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, filled with awe and longing. “How I must have adored you…ah, How I adore you even now...” His words trailed off, his lips returning to claim yours in a kiss that was soft, searching, and impossibly bittersweet.
You stifled a moan, the sound barely escaping your lips as your heels dug into the mattress. Heat coiled low in your belly, but a nagging thought held you in place. If this truly was Alastor, you knew how much he relished control. Surely, he’d expect you to stay still, waiting for his next command.
“Does this form disgust you, cher?” Al’s voice sliced through your thoughts, low and rich, dripping with desire.
His words startled you, and for a moment, you were lost in the depths of his crimson gaze. Disgust? The notion was absurd. If anything, this form was fascinating—intoxicating. Your mind had already accepted that this demon was, in essence, Alastor, and now you couldn’t help but marvel at him. The fiery red of his hair spoke of passion, his sharp smile held a mischievous allure, and those ruby-like eyes gleamed with a predatory hunger.
“N-no,” you stammered, heat rising to your cheeks. “I-I just know you like to take control… I didn’t want to upset you or make you stop.”
His ministrations paused, his claws resting against your bare hips, sending shivers racing along your skin. The top of your dress hung open, exposing your brasserie, while the fabric was bunched around your hips, leaving you vulnerable beneath his touch. He hovered, his knees pressing close to the apex of your thighs, radiating heat and tension.
“What is it you wanted to ask me, cher?” Al inquired, his voice soft yet commanding, drawing you into the moment. “My present self won’t hear a thing. This might be your only chance to know.”
The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest. You’d heard countless tales of how meddling with knowledge of the future often led to ruin. But this wasn’t about destiny or fate—this was about Alastor, the man whose stoic mask never faltered, whose true heart always remained hidden behind an impenetrable wall.
You took a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you… love me? In the future?”
The question hung in the air, fragile and trembling, as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You dared to meet his gaze, bracing yourself for his response.
Al tilted his head, his ear-like tufts flopping to one side, his crimson eyes narrowing with an unreadable glint. Then, with a soft chuckle, he countered, “Do you love me now?”
The breath hitched in your throat, but you forced yourself to nod, summoning every ounce of bravery to seize this fleeting moment of truth. “Y-yes,” you confessed, your voice trembling yet resolute. “I… I do.”
For a heartbeat, silence enveloped the room, thick and heavy with unspoken emotion. Then, Al’s expression softened, his grin shifting into something that resembled bittersweet longing.
“There isn’t a single day I haven’t thought of you while in Hell, cher,” he murmured, his voice rich with a reverence that sent your heart spiralling. His claws traced a slow, deliberate path along the edges of your underwear, the sensation both thrilling and overwhelming.
“Not a single day,” he whispered, his words a tender confession as he gently peeled the fabric away. His touch, so soft yet searing, seemed to convey every unspoken emotion, each one wrapping around you like a vice, leaving you breathless and yearning.
You weren’t sure why the tears came, hot and relentless, welling in your eyes until they spilled over. A sudden ache bloomed in your chest, overwhelming and raw. Without thinking, your trembling hands flew to cover your lips, muffling a quiet sob. “I’m sorry,” you whispered shakily. “I... I didn’t mean to cry.”
The words felt inadequate, your voice small beneath the weight of the moment. You weren’t even certain why you were apologizing—perhaps because you’d never heard him like this before. Alastor’s voice, always sharp and full of confidence, now carried a vulnerability so deep it left you breathless. That softness, that tinge of hurt, was foreign and startling, and it wrapped around your heart, squeezing until it ached for him.
“Shh,” Al soothed, his voice low and caring as he leaned in to kiss away your tears, each press of his lips feather-light and reverent. “There’s no need for apologies, cher. Just let me...stay with you.”
His words were a promise, spoken with a quiet urgency that made your breath hitch. His claws slid beneath the lace of your bra, cupping your breast with a surprisingly warm touch, even gentle. His fingers splayed across your skin, firm yet careful, as though he feared breaking you.
A soft sound escaped you when you felt the faint tug of a zipper being undone. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, and when he pressed the heated length of himself against your core, you inhaled sharply, your back arching ever so slightly. His pace was slow, almost excruciating, as he guided himself inside, inch by inch, allowing you to feel the stretch, the fullness, the raw intimacy of the act.
“Ah,” you exhaled, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as he continued, filling you completely. The pleasure was deep and consuming, his every movement precise, yet tender in a way that left you trembling beneath him.
A sudden snap echoed in the room, and Alastor—the present Alastor—gasped loudly, finally free of the shadows that had silenced him. “You bastard,” he snarled at his future self, his voice hoarse from restraint. “You absolute—”
“This is how you treat her,” Al murmured with a grin, his tone tinged with amusement, though his attention never wavered from you. He shifted his hips, filling you to the hilt, and a soft cry of pleasure tumbled from your lips, mingling with a moan that seemed to echo in the dimly lit room.
He groaned above you, the sound rich and guttural, his breath hot against your skin as he nuzzled against the crook of your neck. Each movement made you keenly aware of him, the way he stretched and filled you, the way his body seemed to fit yours so perfectly. His claws brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as he whispered, “Oh, look at you, my cher. Look how beautifully you take me.”
This was unlike anything you’d ever experienced with Alastor before. It wasn’t rough or commanding, nor was it tinged with the sharp edges of teasing and denial. This was different—soft, intimate, and achingly...gentle. It was as though, for the first time, you weren’t simply giving yourself to him; you were sharing something mutual, something sacred.
“Wrap those lovely legs around me, cher,” Al murmured, his voice low and intoxicating. You obeyed without hesitation, curling your legs around his waist and pulling him even closer. The sensation was overwhelming, his movements sending waves of pleasure that left you gasping, clutching at his jacket as if it were the only thing grounding you.
He captured your lips in a kiss, his tongue brushing against yours in a dance as he swallowed every moan and whimper that escaped you. The intensity built rapidly, pleasure coiling tightly in your core until you felt as though you might shatter from it.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped against his lips, the words barely audible. “I’m so close, I don’t think I can hold back.”
Your fingers curled tighter around his jacket, clutching it desperately as you tried to hold on, to prolong the moment just a little longer. But the pleasure was relentless, building higher and higher, until it consumed every thought, every sensation, leaving only him—only this.
Al chuckled warmly, a sound rich and velvety, like dark chocolate melting against your ears. It carried a hint of mischief, yet something darker lingered beneath it. “See this?” His voice was smooth, teasing as he turned to face Alastor.
Your gaze followed, and a rush of heat flooded your cheeks as your eyes landed on the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of Alastor's pants.
Alastor’s lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line, his expression a storm of rage and humiliation. His dark eyes burned with fury, darting between you and his future self. “Just get it done and over with,” he growled, his voice taut with barely contained anger. He thrashed against the shadowy tendrils that restrained him, but they held him fast.
“Oh, but we have all night,” Al sang, his voice almost melodic, a sinister contrast to the tension in the room. “Tell me, how many times have you robbed her of her pleasure?”
Before you could process his words, Al shifted your position with a surprising ease. You found yourself facing Alastor, your back pressed flush against Al’s chest, your legs spread wide and entirely exposed. Heat flared across your skin, searing with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.
“See this?” Al murmured, his voice low as his fingers gently guided your chin, tilting your face toward Alastor. Your heart pounded, your breath hitching as Al’s grip anchored you in place.
You gasped as he entered you again, deep and relentless, stealing your breath with every thrust. “Oh—oh, A-Al,” you cried, trembling against his unyielding hold.
Al grunted softly, his lips curling into a smile. “Look at her,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. “See how beautiful she is, wrought with pleasure.” He thrust into you harder, the lewd, wet sounds of your joining filling the space.
Alastor’s expression flickered—anger, something unreadable, then averted eyes. He bit his lip harshly, a deep flush creeping up his neck, betraying his growing frustration.
“You’re close, cher,” Al whispered against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. “I can feel it—the way you clench around me, so tight, so perfect.”
He was right. The tension coiled within you, sharp and demanding, pulling you toward the edge.
You tried to fight it, to hold back, but it was futile. A tidal wave of ecstasy crashed over you, tearing a cry from your lips as your body trembled with the force of your climax. Al’s hands guided you through it, his movements unrelenting as he drew out every last shiver and quake of pleasure.
As the haze of your release began to fade, your breath came in ragged gasps. Al held your face gently, his thumb brushing your flushed cheek. Your eyes flicked to Alastor, catching the way his hips moved almost imperceptibly, his lips parted, panting slightly as his gaze fixated on you. His anger seemed momentarily forgotten, replaced by something darker, something needy.
“How many times have you robbed her of this?” Al’s voice was soft, but his words cut sharply. He kissed your cheek, his cock still nestled deep within you. “Shall I right your wrongs? For every pleasure you denied her, I’ll give her double.” His chuckle was light, teasing, and yet his tone carried a promise of endless indulgence.
Your body trembled at the thought, your mind spinning. Could you even withstand more? The lingering pulse of your release still coursed through you, leaving you breathless and yearning.
“Shut up,” Alastor spat, his voice thick with venom. “Are you done yet? How much more of this absurdity must I endure?” He turned his head sharply, his expression a mask of disgust, but there was something unspoken in his eyes—a flicker of hurt that struck a chord within you.
It shouldn’t have stung, but it did.
“Typical,” Alastor sneered, his anger boiling over. His lips curled into a cruel grin. “I always knew you’d open your legs for—”
Before he could finish, a shadow tendril coiled around his throat, cutting him off mid-sentence. His words dissolved into a strangled gasp as his body stiffened.
“Alastor!” you cried out, panic flaring as you instinctively tried to move toward him.
But Al pulled you back against his chest, his arms locking around you. “Don’t fret, cher,” he said smoothly, snapping his fingers. The tendrils vanished instantly, and Alastor collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.
You watched as he rolled onto his side, spittle dripping from his lips as he sucked in desperate gulps of air. Your chest ached at the sight of him, weakened and furious all at once, but before you could speak, Al’s lips brushed your temple, his voice soft and unnervingly gentle.
“Some wounds, cher,” he murmured, “are better left to fester.”
Al’s hips began to move again, a slow and deliberate grind that sent jolts of sensation through your overstimulated body. You bit your lip, trying in vain to stifle the shameful moans that spilled from your throat. Every inch of him seemed to ignite a fire within you.
“Don’t ever,” Al murmured, his voice dropping into a cold, cutting tone that sent a shiver racing down your spine, “disrespect my woman like that.”
The words were like a proclamation, and before you could process them, his hand tightened around your breast, his movements becoming forceful and unrelenting. His hips snapped against yours, filling the room with the sound of skin meeting skin, each thrust pushing you closer to another crescendo of pleasure.
Al’s lips found your neck, searing hot kisses trailing along your sensitive skin before his hand guided your face to meet his. He claimed your lips with a ferocity that left you breathless, his tongue exploring you in a way that felt both possessive and intimate, tracing your teeth and stroking the inside of your cheek as though savouring every part of you.
Your body was still trembling from the aftershocks of your previous release, hypersensitive to every movement. Yet, the way Al continued to thrust into you, his pace calculated but demanding, stirred another wave of pleasure rising too fast for you to suppress.
You moaned unabashedly, your head tipping back as you tried to keep your legs open despite the overwhelming sensations. Al’s kisses turned savage, his lips and tongue trailing down to taste your collarbone and the curve of your shoulder. Before long, your vision blurred, and your body arched into his. Your walls clenched around him, gripping tightly as your second orgasm ripped through you like a tidal wave.
You cried out, your voice breaking as pleasure coursed through your veins. Every nerve in your body seemed to light up, leaving you trembling and weak. Your muscles spasmed around him, your breath hitching with every aftershock as you slowly slumped against his chest, utterly spent.
“Y-your woman?” Alastor’s voice broke the spell, sharp and incredulous. He coughed, clearing his throat before finally finding his footing and standing upright.
“Last I checked,” he continued, his tone rising with indignation, “she wasn’t even in Hell with you—with us!” His hand went to his neck, rubbing the tender skin where the shadow tendrils had choked him moments before. His darkened eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer, his voice brimming with outrage. “You’re insane.”
Before you could react, Alastor reached for your wrist, his grip firm but not painful. He tugged you forward, your weakened body pulled unceremoniously into his arms. Your head fell against his chest, and you felt the warmth of him seep into your skin. His hand slid possessively to your hip, grounding you as he glared at his future self.
Al leaned back, a picture of ease and command, lounging as though he were a king on a throne. He regarded the two of you with a smirk, a glint of amusement in his ruby eyes.
“She…” Alastor began, but his voice faltered. His grip on your wrist loosened until his fingers slid away entirely. His gaze dropped, his anger giving way to something quieter, something aching. “She lives in an entirely different world than us. Than me.”
Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling heavily over you.
You turned slowly, your eyes lifting to meet Alastor’s. This was the man you had fallen for—the one you had dreamed of, the one whose guarded heart you had hoped to reach. His expression struggled to wear his usual impassive mask, yet, his jaw tense and there was something raw in his eyes, something he didn’t dare speak aloud.
The air between you hung thick with unspoken words. And as you looked into his face, you realized just how fragile this moment truly was.
Alastor’s fingers brushed a strand of hair back from your face, the motion hauntingly familiar to the one his future self had performed. His touch was gentle as he tucked the strand behind your ear. His eyes met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you thought you saw something vulnerable flicker there—only for it to vanish beneath his ever-present smile.
“You remember, don’t you, dear?” His voice was smooth, almost casual, but there was an edge to it, like the sharp bite of a slap. “What we have, what we are... it’s just for—” he paused, his gaze holding yours for a fraction too long before finishing, “fun.”
Fun.
The word echoed in your mind, hollow and cold. All the hope that had swelled within you moments earlier, kindled by Al’s words, dissipated instantly.
Fun.
It was what you and Alastor had agreed upon. A fleeting arrangement, a temporary indulgence in each other’s company, meant to burn bright and brief before the inevitable end. It was never supposed to be more. Never meant to last.
Fun.
That was the word that cut through you, sharper than any blade. You had known this from the start, hadn’t you? Once your father found the perfect match for you, you would disappear from Alastor’s life forever. That had been the unspoken agreement. Yet somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and your heart betrayed you.
You glanced toward Al—the demon who claimed to be Alastor’s future self. His words, his touches, his teasing... was it all a game? A cruel trick to see how far he could bend you, how much hope he could ignite only to snuff it out?
Your awareness sharpened as embarrassment crept over you, your vulnerable state of undress now unbearable. Your arms instinctively crossed over yourself, clutching at your dress as you tried to cover the skin that felt too exposed, too raw.
The dress you had painstakingly chosen for this evening, carefully picked with Alastor in mind, now hung loosely, undone and crumpled. Your hair, once meticulously brushed and curled, was now a chaotic mess. You had spent hours perfecting your makeup, only for the tears streaking your face to smear it into ruin.
You looked like a fool.
The urge to flee surged within you. You couldn’t bear to stay here, not like this. But even as the thought crossed your mind, another, more painful realization followed—if you left, what would happen to the deal? Your heart ached at the cruel irony. Even now, after everything, you still cared about him. About what he wanted. About fulfilling your part of the bargain.
For him.
Tears welled up in your eyes again, spilling over despite your best efforts to contain them. You forced yourself to look up, but not at Al. Instead, your gaze found Alastor—the man you had fallen for despite all the odds, despite his impenetrable walls, despite knowing he would never truly be yours.
“H-how much longer,” you began, your voice trembling as you struggled to hold back the tears, “must I satisfy the demon, Alas—” Your voice faltered, and you lowered your head, your next word barely above a whisper. “S-sir?”
For a long moment, Alastor said nothing. His face was unreadable, his whisky brown eyes scanning your dishevelled appearance with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You wanted to disappear under his gaze, ashamed of the image you must have presented to him now.
But then, to your surprise, he moved closer. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out, his long fingers brushing against your trembling hands. Without a word, he began to button your dress. One button at a time, his movements were delicate, almost reverent.
There was no teasing in his touch, no mockery in his expression. Just a quiet, unexpected gentleness.
His lashes fluttered briefly against his cheeks, soft and fragile behind his round glasses. When he spoke, his voice was low and filled with quiet resolve. “You should wait outside, dear,” he whispered, his words carrying the faintest tremor of tenderness. “At least let me take you home. It wouldn’t do to have a lady out this late.”
Moments like this, where he allowed a sliver of gentleness to break through his sharp edges, made your heart both race and ache. You clung to the sound of his voice, the kindness laced within it, even as uncertainty churned in your chest.
“What about the demon—” you began, the question heavy with fear and concern.
He silenced you with a single, sharp look. His frown slowly curled into a grin, that eerily familiar expression that always danced between charming and menacing. “No need to worry about that, dear,” he said lightly, though his tone darkened as he shifted his gaze to the demon. “Unless the demon wishes to force his cher—” he spat the title like venom, his disdain palpable “—to pleasure him.”
The air grew taut, charged with a dangerous energy. The red devil, Al’s supposed future self, froze for a moment, his grin tightening as his eyes narrowed. It felt as though the room itself bristled with his restrained fury. Then, almost too casually, he smoothed a hand over his pants, fixing himself, preened his dishevelled hair, and adjusted his monocle with precision.
“That would mean our contract is null and void,” the demon drawled, his words slow and deliberate. He tilted his head slightly, studying Alastor with a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.
“That’s fine,” Alastor replied evenly, his voice firm, yet calm. Without waiting for a response, he gently but firmly pushed you toward the door. “Go. Wait for me outside.”
You hesitated, torn between obedience and the instinct to stay by his side. Your eyes flicked between Alastor and the demon, the two of them locked in a silent, smouldering battle of wills. Finally, with a reluctant nod, you turned to leave, your steps faltering but resolute.
You had barely taken three steps when the devil’s voice stopped you, his words drifting through the tense air like smoke.
“Cher?”
Your shoulders jumped up, muscles stiff with unease as you turned back toward him. The sight of his inky, unnatural tendrils from before lingered in your memory, a haunting reminder of how effortlessly he could hurt—or kill.
The devil’s grin had frozen in place, his sharp eyes scanning your face, your body, as though searching for something he couldn’t find. Slowly, his expression shifted. His two tufts of hair drooped, softening against his head, and for a fleeting moment, his imposing presence seemed almost weak, vulnerable.
“I hope you have a lovely night, my darling,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with something that almost sounded like sorrow. “Ma chère,” he murmured, tilting his head as if bidding farewell to something precious.
Before you could muster a response, Alastor’s figure stepped between you and the demon. His back was to you, but his presence was unyielding, protective. Without turning fully, he spoke firmly, “Go. Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Your heart felt heavy, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts as you finally obeyed. With trembling steps, you walked out of the office, leaving the two behind without daring to glance back.
Now came the hardest part.
Waiting.
Standing outside, the minutes dragged on, each one longer than the last. Your thoughts spiralled, dread filling the space left by the closed door. Would it be Alastor who emerged, or the devil? Or worse—would the door open to reveal Alastor lifeless on the floor?
Clasping your hands tightly, you sank to your knees on the cold ground, closing your eyes as tears pricked your lashes. You prayed, your whispered words trembling as they left your lips. You begged forgiveness from a merciful God for allowing a demon to touch your body, for the sins you had committed, and for the sin you were willing to bear if it meant Alastor would emerge unharmed.
The only thing you wanted now was for him to be safe.
Safe, and with you once more.
The moment the door clicked shut, Alastor turned his glare on the devil who dared call himself his future. “For a devil, you are quite…” he sneered, his sharp teeth glinting, “pathetic.”
His future self barely flinched, idly inspecting his cuticles as though the insult was nothing more than a passing breeze. “Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, raising a brow without lifting his gaze. “I must say, it’s rather odd to look back and see just how foolish I once was.”
Alastor’s jaw tightened, a vein visibly pulsing at his temple. “You mean to tell me that you’ve clawed your way to becoming an Overlord—one of the highest ranks in Hell, no less—and yet, here you are, chasing after some privileged little gir—"
“That woman,” his future self interrupted coldly, rising to his full height. His red eyes blazed with a dangerous light, casting an oppressive shadow across the room. “She is my—no, our—love.”
Alastor scoffed, his disgust palpable. “Love? What rot.” He folded his arms tightly, his long fingers curling into his sleeves as though restraining himself. “I don’t have the time, nor the desire, for such sentimentality. There are far grander things to pursue, far more thrilling paths to follow.” His grin widened, jagged and bloodthirsty. “And I’ve never been one to let anyone dull the taste of the hunt.”
The future Alastor chuckled low, his voice dipping into something almost pitying. “Ah, yes. Look at you,” he mused, his tone softer now, though no less unsettling. “So young, so single-minded, so…” His eyes flickered with something indecipherable. “...untouched by the weight of eternity.”
He turned then, pacing with a languid grace, his shadow stretching and twisting unnaturally as he moved. “Eternity, you see, changes a man,” he continued, his voice almost wistful. “It sinks its claws into your mind, warping it, forcing you to reminisce on the past whether you want to or not.”
Alastor said nothing, his body rigid and his gaze locked on the man pacing before him. Theatrics, he thought with a sneer. It seemed Hell had done nothing but make him more insufferable.
The future him paused, his back to him now, his shoulders rising and falling with a quiet, steady breath. “She—cher—loved us,” he said softly, the words slipping out like a confession he hadn’t meant to make. When he turned, his expression was unreadable, but his crimson eyes burned. “She stood by us even when she knew. Even after learning our delightful little secret.”
Alastor’s stomach twisted, though he couldn’t quite say why. He forced his expression to remain unchanged, his grin fixed in place like a mask he’d long since perfected.
The future him tilted his head, studying him with something that felt far too intimate, as though he could see the cracks beneath the surface. “She looked me in the eyes,” he murmured, his voice softening with the memory, “and she asked,‘Can I stay with you?’”
Suddenly, he barked out a laugh, loud and bitter, throwing his head back as his hand swept over his face. “Can you believe it? Standing there, dripping in another man’s blood, and she had the gall to ask me if she could stay with me?”
His laughter died into something quieter, darker. When he looked back at Alastor, his manic grin was gone, replaced by an expression that seemed caught between amusement and sorrow. “How utterly, ridiculously foolish of her,” he said, his voice laced with something tender.
Alastor’s mask of indifference faltered for just a moment, his mind racing, though his lips curved back into place as quickly as it had fallen. He couldn’t let this man—this thing—see any weakness. But the words lingered, echoing in the silence that followed.
"Sounds like she stays with me for quite a while," Alastor murmured, his voice low and contemplative. The realization settled into him with a quiet sort of confidence. If the girl remained enamoured with him for an extended period, there would be no need for his future self's assistance. She could keep persuading her father to funnel money into his radio broadcasts.
He didn't need this thing anymore.
His future self chuckled softly, the sound dark and humorless. “Oh, she does stay with you. And you, in all your stubbornness, deny your feelings for her. Even after your death.” A wry smile curved at his lips, tinged with something far heavier than amusement. “You let her marry another man. You didn’t even stop her wedding.”
“I had no right to,” Alastor replied flatly, though his jaw tightened imperceptibly.
“You didn’t kill her husband when he started beating her.”
“It was no longer my business,” Alastor said through gritted teeth, his fingers curling into tight fists. “What happens between a man and a woman bound by marriage is their affair.”
The words barely left his mouth before a horrible, grating white noise filled the room. It clawed at his ears, drowning out his thoughts. He staggered slightly, looking up just in time to see his future self begin to unravel.
His once-dapper figure twisted grotesquely, hair growing shaggy and wild, teeth sharpening into jagged yellow points that glowed unnaturally. His eyes warped, pupils flickering like shifting radio dials.
“She was hurting,” the figure hissed, his voice a cacophony of static and rage. “And you did nothing to protect her!”
Dark, gnarled antlers sprouted from his head, resembling the twisted, lifeless branches of a dead tree. His elongated form loomed over Alastor, arms stretching unnaturally as if to choke him, though he stopped just short.
“She died,” the future self spat, his voice fractured and trembling with fury. “Beaten to death by that pathetic excuse of a husband. You could have saved her! You should have saved her!” He paused, his grinning mask fracturing into countless shards. "I should have saved her. I should have helped her." His voice became a manic chant, each repetition more unhinged than the last. “Help her… help her… help her!”
Alastor took several measured steps back, his disgust plain on his face. His eyes burned with disdain as he straightened his posture. “That girl means nothing to me,” he sneered. “She’s just a means to an end. I will never become you.”
The creature froze mid-motion, his grotesque form suddenly still. His eyes widened, as if struck by an unseen force, before his body began to shrink and contort, growing smaller and smaller.
“Oh,” he whispered softly, his voice hollow and distant. As his monstrous visage faded, he seemed more man than demon, his expression frozen in something between grief and longing. “She died before you...before me. She was in Hell first…” His gaze fell to the floor, searching for something unseen. “If I’d died first, I could have protected her…from the extermination... If we’d died together…” His voice faltered, trailing off as he stared vacantly at the ground.
The future self’s eyes widened in a sudden, dawning realization as his body began to dissolve completely. His time was up.
The future version of himself turned his face sharply toward Alastor, his crimson eyes wide and frenzied, his grin stretching impossibly as if carved into his face. “Help her, help her, help her,” he chanted, his voice trembling with mania and desperation. Each repetition was a dagger, sharp and insistent, stabbing at the silence between them. “You’ll regret it. You’ll—”
But before the final word left his lips, his form unravelled completely. He vanished like smoke caught in the wind, leaving behind nothing but the faint, chilling echo of his last plea.
Alastor stood frozen, staring at the empty space where his future self had been. The chair that had grotesquely morphed into a bed returned to its mundane, wooden form with a soft creak. The room fell still, save for the faint metallic tang of blood in the air, remnants of the summoning ritual still staining the floor.
A low, derisive laugh escaped him, dry and humorless. It reverberated in the quiet room, a hollow sound that dissipated as quickly as it came. “Ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath, straightening his tie with deliberate care. “Utterly ridiculous.”
There were hundreds, thousands of people suffering in the world. People beaten, broken, and killed every day. Why should one person’s pain matter more than the rest? His muddy brown eyes flicked to the door, the barrier between him and you. He could feel your presence on the other side, waiting.
Always waiting.
And yet...
He shook the thought away, his lips pressing into a tight line. You were nothing but a means to an end. A convenient piece in his grand design.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Alastor inhaled deeply as the oppressive, sulphur-laden air of Hell greeted him. The thick atmosphere clung to his skin, sticky and suffocating, as if the very realm wanted to remind him of where he belonged. He was home—or rather, back in his territory.
He straightened, a flicker of hope igniting within his chest, faint and fragile. Perhaps his younger self had listened. Perhaps the warnings had sunk in, sparing him the endless torment of regret.
But as he stood there, he felt it—the empty, unchanging void where new memories should have been. Nothing was different. Every moment, every sensation of you, was still confined to the past, untouched by the intervention of his other self.
His shoulders sank slightly as he pushed open the door to his residence. It groaned on its hinges, a mournful sound that echoed through the dark, cavernous halls. His home was vast yet barren, shadows swallowing the corners of rooms that had long since been abandoned by warmth.
There was no trace of you. No scent, no sound, no faint whisper of your laughter to greet him.
Oh.
A bitter realization settled over him, heavy and unrelenting. He would spend eternity as he always had—without you. Once more. How fitting, he thought, for a sinner like him.
He pressed his lips against his trembling fingers, his eyes closing as he forced himself to draw upon the fading memory of your face. The way your eyes lit up with that wide, innocent wonder. The delicate flush of your cheeks that sent his chest tightening in ways he’d never admit aloud.
“You look wonderful today, cher,” he murmured to the silence, his voice soft, almost reverent. Words he’d always thought but never dared to say.
“My, is that gift for me?” His laughter cracked as he spoke to the void. “You shouldn’t have... Truly, I’ll treasure it.”
“Did you do something with your hair?” he asked, his tone warm and practised, though his grin faltered. “It looks lovely, cher.” He smiled into the empty room, knowing the words would never reach you.
Then, his voice fell to a whisper, a confession carried by the air of a hollowed-out life. “Ah... I love you, ma chère. I do.” The words tasted bittersweet, aching with all the emotions he had locked away. “I love you,” he said again, softer this time, like a prayer. “Stay with me?”
For a fleeting moment, he let himself imagine the impossible. You, smiling that radiant smile that warmed his cold heart. Your arms wrapping around him tightly as you whispered a resounding yes.
A life he would never know.
A life he had willingly forfeited.
Now, all that stretched before him was an eternity without you.
An eternity of silence.
@safination and @redfoxwritesstuff this month was your birthday month. So happy birthday baby girl 💖🎂
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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 48 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)
CW: Domestic Alastor, Oral, Fingering, These are not kitchen activities Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!
It felt so right, standing at the counter in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with the man you loved as music played through the house. Sunlight filtered, dancing through the window as your knife sliced through the pepper.
Next to you, Alastor sliced through the last of the onions as he listened carefully to the sausage sizzling in the heavy pot Susan had brought over. Once he finished with the onion, he made quick work of flipping the sausage slices, now browned and crispy on one side.
It was a marvel to watch him work in the kitchen. Everything he did was well practiced and showed clear expertise. Each pass of the blade was sure, though you knew your knifes could be sharper.
“My darling, do you need to take a picture?” Alastor’s voice shocked you out of the daze you hadn’t realized you fell into.
“I’m sorry?” You stammered.
“You’re staring,” Alastor’s warm laugh washed over you, “Have you never seen a man cook?”
“No,” you answered honestly, “I fear neither my father or my- or Laurence could manage to assemble so much as a sandwich without assistance.”
“Well,” Alastor turned on his heel, fishing the sausage slices from the pan and set them aside. He grabbed the jar of chicken broth and poured a healthy splash into the pan, stepping back slightly as it exploded into sizzles for a moment before calming to a simmer as he scrapped the drippings from the bottom of the pan, “With me, you’ll see it rather often.”
“Is that so?” you asked as he poured the liquid from the pan into the pot. The heavy pan looked light as Alastor carried it to the sink, setting it inside and running water over it for a moment before turning the tap off again and returning to the stove.
“It is,” Alastor said as he poured a few jars of broth into the pot and turned the burner on. “I’m fond of cooking.”
You handed him the bowl holding the vegetables, garlic and parsley. He poured it into the pot and passed the bowl back to you with a word of thanks. The sound of the wooden spoon on the bottom of the pot was different than the whisk but you found it relaxing just the same.
“Did your mother teach you to make this?” You asked as you brought the package of already cooked shredded chicken and prepped shrimp closer to the stove. Alastor had told you the chicken was left over from a bird he had roasted the night prior but only smiled when you asked about the shrimp. It had already been shelled and prepped for cooking. Having that done at the market cost extra.
“She did,” Alastor said as the steaming pot started to slowly give way to bubbles, “Gumbo was one of her favorites.”
“I’m honored you’d share that with me,” you said, handing him the shrimp when he motioned for it.
“I’d share everything with you,” Alastor said absently, pouring the shrimp and sausage into the bubbling pot. The chicken followed shortly after.
While Alastor stirred the pot, you busied yourself with washing up what dishes had been dirtied so far. You were not sure what the right thing to say was. You were not even sure if he had intended for you to hear the confession.
He loved you, and you, him. It made no sense for such a confession to feel as intimate, as special as it did but that didn’t change anything. It wasn’t often that Alastor spoke about his mother. Nuggets of information about her and his boyhood were dropped seemingly at random.
You were desperate for more information on the woman that was so fundamental in making the man you loved who he was.
“She’d make a big pot every Sunday,” Alastor started, unprompted. He spoke with his back to you, wooden spoon moving through the bubbling liquid as it slowly thickened, throwing a handful of spices inside the pot as he went. “We’d use whatever we had, clean out the ice box.”
“Oh?” You watched him over your shoulder as you set the dishes into the rack to dry. It wouldn’t take long and you would be able to put them away.
“We’d get a new block of ice delivered Sunday and be able to keep the pot up for a few days, eating off of it over time. It helped, with Ma workin so hard and money bein so tight.” Alastor’s accent began to slip, his voice warming as he focused more on his memories and less on where he was.
There was an ache in your chest as you scooped rice into a bowl. In your girlhood, you had never known hunger. There wasn’t a time you could remember where you had been aware of your parents financial situation. Sure, your home was small compared to what Laurence had grown up in but next to Alastor’s home it had been a palace.
“It’ll be a good lunch,” Alastor said as you washed the starch and dust from the rice, swishing the grains around with your hand. “It’ll be better for dinner though, after it’s sat for a bit.”
“I wish I didn’t have to share it,” You confessed as you drained the water from the bowl. “Not with him.”
“I know, Cher.” Alastor said, taking the bowl from you and pouring the wet grains into a smaller pot after placing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’d rather not cook for him either but it is worth it.”
“What do you mean?” You asked as he filled the pot with water, using his knuckle to measure it. The pot clanged, scraping against the cast iron burners as he positioned it. He reignited the flame, the whoosh of the ignition seeming loud as you waited to see if he would answer.
“It’s worth cooking for him right now, if it means I get to cook for you. If it means you get to relax and take a small break.” You wrapped your arms around his front, resting against his back as he watched the pot. There was no stopping the small smile that spread across your face as you felt his hand rest over yours.
“Thank you,” You whispered, knowing he would hear you over the pot quickly starting to boil.
“You’re more than welcome,” Alastor said as he put the lid on the pot, turning the flame almost off. The hot water and steam would finish cooking the rice. All that was left to do now was wait.
Alastor stepped away from the stove, turning to face you. His large hand took yours up as he lead you through a simple dance around the kitchen. Your laugh was more than enough music for him to dance to. The steps slowed, as did your dance devolved into simply holding eachother, swaying.
Noses brushed against noses as you shared eachother’s breath. Lips were so close to eachother as you swam in the warmth of his eyes. Bodies stilled. Arms tightened around your waist as your fingers twisted around the fabric of his shirt. His heart crashed under your palm as you tilted your head just a little further up.
“I want to kiss you,” Alastor whispered. “Right here, in this kitchen.”
“Why don’t you?” His kips were so close to yours.
“This is the home you share with him,” Alastor whispered, lips just a hair from yours as his eyes danced over your face.
“You’ve kissed me in here before.” Was he pulling you closer or were you leaning more into him?
“I was near out of my mind with- with longing,” Alastor answered. “It was inappropriate, disrespectful.”
“What if I wanted you to do it again?” You could almost taste him, he was so close. “What if I wanted you to disrespect my husband’s home? To be inappropriate in it, with me?”
“I would say I’m a man starved,” Your hands up his chest, wrapping them around his neck loosely. “I would say that if we open this door, I’m not sure if I can keep it closed again.”
“What does that mean?” You asked, eyes fluttering as you were torn between looking longingly at his lips and struggling to come up for air.
“It means I will eat you alive,” Alastor said, pushing you back with his body, each step taking you further. You gasped as your back hit the edge of the table, pinning you between him and it. “And I will not stop until my name is all you can think of.”
“Alastor?” You gasped as he kissed you. This was not the sweet kisses he had been giving you. It was greedy, stealing the breath from your lungs and the thoughts from your mind. He wasted no time in taking advantage of your gasp, lips parting as he worked his tongue between yours.
You drank him up, fingers curling into his hair. They tangled into strands that so badly wanted to curl but were forced into submission by heat. Tongues ran against eachother, tasted eachother as two struggled to become one.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asked as his lips pulled from yours, his tongue darting out to run over his shiny lips.
“Yes,” you whispered as his grip tightened around your waist, lifting you off the ground as if you weighed nothing and set you on the edge of the kitchen table. Heavy hands rested on your knees, pushing them apart so that he could slot himself between them. “I was worried,” you said, words dying as you felt his hips between your knees and his lips on your neck.
“Worried?” he whispered into your skin. “About what?”
“That,” you gasped as his hands ran higher up your thighs, pushing the hem higher until his fingers were slipping under the sides of your panties, gripping your hips. “That this was over for now.”
“This?” Alastor asked as he pulled the fabric down, stepping away so he could guide it down your thighs. The fabric hit the ground and his knees did the same. “If you want this,” his hands ran up your calfs as he spread your knees, drawing closer, “from me,” his hands ran up your thighs as he watched your flushed face. “In this house…”
“Please,” you breathed the word, terrified to take your eyes from Alastor for fear that this moment was just another dream.
“Do you want me?” Alastor asked, kissing the inside of your knee, looking up at you from under his brow. “Do you want me to take you to heaven? Right here, in the kitchen of your marital home?”
“Please?” you were begging, reaching for him. You couldn’t help it. “I want you. Your touch. To feel you. To feel wanted by you.”
“Ma Cherie,” Alastor kissed higher up the inside of your thigh as he rose higher on his knees, “I’ve wanted to feel you from the moment we left the train. I’ve longed to taste you.”
“I- Please?” You whined, “I need you, Alastor.”
“What kind of lover would I be if I denied you what you needed?” Alastor was so close now. You flushed, shame, excitement and arousal mixing to make your head spin. Everything about this was wrong and yet, you wanted it so damn bad. There was nothing protecting any semblance of your modesty. He could see your most private place from where he knelt between your legs.
“You’re already ready,” Alastor hooked his hand around your thigh, resting one of your legs on his shoulder as he leaned closer. “I can see you glistening for me.”
He was taking his time, pulling you to the edge of the table and shoving your skirt higher, exposing you better. It was just a matter of time before the anticipation drove you insane, propelled by need, want and the sinful sound of his voice.
“I need you,” you whined, “Please, Alastor.”
“Already crying my name and I haven’t even touched you yet,” he chuckled darkly. “Lean back.” He tilted your hips with pressure from his strong fingers. “Good girl. Now, let me feast.”
He was on you instantly. There was no time wasted to teasing, not any longer. He dove into your core as if he was, as he claimed to be, a man starved. A moan reverberated through his chest and against you as his tongue ran greedily up your folds, slurping in the slick that had gathered as if it was some fine delicacy.
It was a battle to support your weight on your outstretched arm. Though you needed the other to help support yourself, instead you reached for him. Soft hair ran through your fingers as you moaned.
This was, as Alastor promised it would be, indecent. You were with another man in your marital home. He was pleasing you in the kitchen you cooked the meals for your husband in and you didn’t care. All you cared about was the pleasure the man you loved gave you.
His finger slipped inside your core easily, quickly followed by another as his attention focused on the nub of nerves that headed your sex. Your back arched. Your elbow gave out, and you fell back against the table. Pain flared through your sore body, fighting to remind you of healing injuries and failing as pleasure washed it away.
“Oh,” you gasped as you felt Alastor’s hand cup the curve of your thigh, running along the length as he ran his tongue around the nub again and again, fingers pumping into you and spreading deep inside. “Alastor.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, eyes looking up at you as his nose brushed against your mound. He watched as you struggled up on your elbow, moaning himself as you failed to keep your weight supported for long.
“Alastor,” you cried, feeling the pleasure build. An ever tightening pressure built inside your core as he continued to work at you. His tongue would dip down, slipping between spread fingers to drink from your opening, only to return to the pearl that left you writhing on the table.
Your slick smeared on his glasses, leaving milky marks that obscured your view of his eyes, though you were not sure how. Puffs of his breath and the heat from your sex mingled to fog them. Reaching over your thigh, he pulled them from his face and set them on the table next to you. With them gone, there was nothing between you and his warm brown eyes, watching your every reaction.
How did his mouth not tire? How did his hand not tire? How could he work you as if he had just begun after what felt like hours? Thoughts swam, being driven by the feeling of him.
“Alastor,” his name fell from your lips as your hips rocked, pushing his fingers deeper as you chased the feeling of him. “Alastor. Please, Alastor. Close,”
His lips wrapped around the bundle of nerves again. Teeth grazed over it as he sucked you into his mouth, tongue working you over. You snapped, body tightening as your head fell back with a thump against the table. His name was a chanted prayer, coming off your tongue with every thrust of his fingers into you as he worked you through your orgasm.
You gripped his hair and the hand wrapped around your thigh as the man you loved dismantled your world and put it back together again. The pumping of his fingers slowed as he let your clit free, tongue running through your folds and over it as your body twitched.
“Magnificent,” Alastor said, looking up at you as he ran his tongue over his lips, licking your slick from his lips, “It’s as breathtaking to watch you come undone now as it was the first time”
It felt like he replaced the bones in your limbs with jelly. Your muscles twitched, and you gasped for air as Alastor pulled your panties up your legs until they hung between your ankles. Folding over you, he braced himself against the table with elbows on each side of you.
For a moment, he just took in the sight of your flushed and glassy eyes. Your lips were parted and hair tussled from how you had thrown your head back. It was the most beautiful sight, one he couldn’t get enough of, the aftermath of your pleasure.
He hated the fact that in an hour or so, he would have to leave you. What he wanted was to feed you the gumbo and rice, then take you back to heaven again and again, until the clock stuck midnight and you brought in the new day with his name on your lips.
All in good time, Alastor knew. It was just a matter of time and then Laurence would be dead. You would perform the show of a widow for a few short months and then you would be his.
How long would they need to wait to court? How long would you wish to wait before you remarried? Alastor knew he wished to spend the rest of his life with you by his side. The only question was how long until his future could begin?
He needed to buy you a ring. There wasn’t a rush, he knew. It would be a long time before you could wear it, but it was better to plan for the things he would need to do. It was better for a man to be prepared than find the ring fit for his love to be out of his budget.
“What are you thinking?” you asked, reaching up and running numb fingers through his messy brown hair. He would have to fix it before going to the station, though you didn’t know how he would be able to without returning home.
“Of how much I love you,” Alastor answered simply, leaning down and placing an open-mouthed kiss on your lips. His hand ran under your back as he lifted you to a sitting position, not breaking the kiss as he fed you the taste of your desire for him on his tongue.
It was just a matter of time before this was his life.
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𝐀 𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧
𝐂𝐖: P in V, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Brief mentions of murder and death, Abrupt ending (I ran out of ideas), and last but not least, pure, unadulterated smut with a dash of angst.
𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: This is 3.9k words of Alastor feeling ashamed for taking your virginity after sneaking out and murdering someone while you were asleep. He has a complicated relationship with sex, but your inexperience from your religious upbringing only makes him feel worse for not making your first time ‘special,’ so to speak. You, on the other hand, are brimming with excitement at the thought of being fucked—or devoured, as Alastor makes it out to be by portraying you as the prey, and he, the predator.
You never expected Alastor to consummate your marriage. When the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, you’d all but lost hope in the mere thought of fulfilling that sinfully tantalizing feeling that blossomed deep within your core in his presence. In fact, if he hadn’t taken you completely by surprise in the hush of a peaceful, Sunday night, rousing you awake by latching those large hands of his onto your hips, you wouldn’t have shaken off that gnawing belief that you were destined to a life of chastity—or worse, that he simply found you unattractive.
“Al?” You muttered, voice thickly laced with sleep, but the only response you received was the sound of his knees knocking against the footboard.
Your lips parted with a gasp as he pulled you down the end of the bed, his breaths short and rapid, his palms shakily sliding down to caress the back of your thighs. His touch was cold—so, very inexplicably cold, as if he’d washed his hands only moments ago—but you couldn’t muster the ability to question him. In your defense, it was impossible to formulate a single syllable as he effortlessly maneuvered you onto your stomach and, better yet, spread your thighs apart. It admittedly made you feel like a… like a whore, but you watched over your shoulder through half-lidded eyes anyway.
Waiting, anticipating his next move.
“Forgive me,” Alastor finally spoke, confusing you, but you assumed he felt as if he owed you an apology for waking you at such an ungodly hour.
Before you could say that it was alright, that you were willing to forgive him because he was giving you what you’d long desired, he bunched your nightgown over your waist and did something your virgin mind struggled to grasp in your drowsy state. He yanked your panties down to your knees, lowered his head, and pressed a filthy, open-mouthed kiss on your slick core. A scandalized gasp escaped your throat, your body jolting forwards, but his hands kept you in place. This? This depraved act, your parents hadn’t prepared you for this prior to your engagement.
They’d told you sex was only about penetration.
“What are you doing?” You cried out, but not in disapproval. You simply wanted to know what was the purpose, if it even had one to begin with.
“Preparing you,” Alastor spoke against your cunt, though the slurping, the greedy smacking of his lips, drowned out his words.
He was already drunk off of you.
Your taste, your smell—he couldn’t get enough.
You supposed you couldn’t complain, not when he moved his lips so deliciously across your folds, teasingly encircling that sensitive little bud you had never ventured to touch with the tip of his tongue. No, and it’s not like you’d dare to, either, shuddering at the way he closed his lips around your clit and suckled, repeating the act over and over, a pleased groan reverberating through his chest at the obscene mewl you tried to stifle by burying your face into the sheets. Even though it felt wrong having his mouth down there, you couldn’t help but push your hips back onto his face.
“Oh,” You softly whined as he sunk his nails into your thighs, leaving crescent moons in your skin.
The noises were embarrassing.
Schlurp.
Schlick.
Smack.
And filthy, so, so incredibly filthy.
Alastor ate you out like a starved man, paying no mind to how utterly debauched he felt by defiling his innocent, virgin wife so crudely. He had to get out all the pent-up energy somehow after committing a ghastly act a few hours ago, a twinge of guilt resonating in his heart at how clueless you were about the extent of his… hunting. The same hands that held you in place with a vice-like grip as he massaged your clit with his tongue, bringing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy? They’d also butchered some poor, unsuspecting fool walking home from a late-night shift.
He should have been asleep, next to you.
Instead, he snuck out and added someone else onto the long list of victims he had, and in a manner that was urgent, so to speak. No torture. A swift death. He couldn’t disappear for long without coming back home with an explanation, now that he was married; thus, he left the moment you drifted off into a deep slumber. And when he returned hours later, still reeling with adrenaline, an urge he rarely ever felt ensnared him at the sight of you, sprawled out on the bed in a flimsy little nightgown, sleeping. His cock almost immediately stirred to life, filling him with much shame.
Eventually, though, he relented.
He didn’t know what else to do with himself.
Alastor felt like such an animal—a predator—devouring his prey as you attempted to shut your legs closed and wriggle away at the foreign sensation slowly building up in your lower belly. It was overwhelming, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to run away from it or find out what it was; either way, your husband ultimately decided for you. A high-pitched cry escaped your throat as he lurched forward and vigorously sucked at your clit, swiftly bringing you over the edge. The pleasure, the euphoria, that surged through your body was unlike anything you’d ever felt before.
“Oh… oh my, that was…” You panted, tossing your head over your shoulder, watching him stand up and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Good?” Alastor asked, his voice low, gravely.
“Yes,” You said, abashed.
“Well, I’m glad.”
Unbeknownst to you, Alastor hadn’t actually planned on doing anything past that. He just needed to release that pent-up energy, hoping that the adrenaline would dissipate soon after you came down from the ecstasy; but as he pulled back and watched your body slump onto the bed, displaying your swollen, fluttering cunt, his saliva and your pleasure dribbling down your hole, thick and milky, he internally sighed. It was tempting, too tempting, but not as much as the expectant look you shot him between bouts of heavy pants, eyes flicking down to look at his… slacks?
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you blinked, vision trying to adjust to the darkness.
Why wasn’t he wearing his nightwear?
“I thought I heard something odd outside,” Alastor was quick to say, and though you paused, you eventually nodded. “I changed before checking.”
He’d never given you a reason to not trust him.
But it was evident you remained a bit doubtful.
“And was there something… odd?” You asked, sounding rather meek. He shook his head with a gentle smile and a ‘No, my darling.’
If you still weren’t half-asleep, the thought of how strange it was that he’d changed at all would have crossed your mind. And while Alastor knew it had not, he quickly shrugged off whatever shame left in his bones, deciding that he couldn’t give you the opportunity to further probe. Thus, he placed a hand on his belt and encouraged you to lie on your back, trying to maintain his smile as you hesitated before rolling over and kicking off your panties. A soft, clinking sound echoed throughout the room, and it was then that the realization that he was finally going to make you his hit you once more.
It ultimately won over your confusion, your doubts.
And your excitement resurfaced, legs falling open with a slight tremble.
Well, until he got rid of the rest of his clothes, then you were suddenly feeling apprehensive. The revelation that now stood tall and proud before you made you wonder how on God’s green earth it was supposed to fit inside of you. Your knees came together, and your eyes—oh, those lovely eyes of yours—they made Alastor’s cock painfully throb. You were staring up at him through your lashes in a way that resembled a frightened little doe, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but revel in it. That was exactly what he liked about hunting… both animals and people. Especially people.
They always looked at him like that to appeal to his humanity, a last-ditch effort to save themselves. Alas, it never worked, because why would a predator relinquish its prey instead of satiating its hunger? It made no sense, and even less so when he found himself frowning down at the wonderful meal you’d deprived him of. You couldn’t leave him standing there, half-starved, not after he had finally tasted you. All the while, you assumed that he was simply disappointed as he stared at your legs, once open and inviting, now completely shut closed. He rarely ever frowned around you.
“Is it… will it hurt?” You asked him, the tentativeness of your question snapping him out of his thoughts. “I’ve never done, well, this.”
The corners of his lips instantly curled up.
“It’s quite alright, my darling,” Alastor said as he approached you, placing his hands on your knees and giving them a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“It’ll be uncomfortable, yes, but only for a moment,” He continued, slowly parting your legs, which you allowed. “I would never harm you.”
“Okay,” You nodded, feeling a bit comforted.
That was all that Alastor needed before revealing your core to his greedy eyes, pupils dilating at the filthy sight of your folds unsticking from each other with an obscene schlick. The sound made your face flare up in embarrassment, but you tried not to think much about it as you reached for the hem of your nightgown and swiftly pulled it over your head, exposing the delicate swell of your belly and your soft, supple breasts. Though you weren’t necessarily bold, the fact that he was looming above you, stark naked, put you at ease… well, that and the appreciative ‘Beautiful,’ he let out.
“Thank you,” You murmured.
“Of course,” Alastor said, grabbing one of your legs and placing it over his shoulder, the head of his cock kissing your clit as he leaned in. “Ready?”
“Yeah, I think so,” You nodded.
With his free hand, he grabbed the base of his length, giving it a few, experimental pumps before dragging it through your folds to lather himself up in your slick. You tossed your head back onto the bed, lips parting with a breathless moan, cunt already throbbing in anticipation. However, those small noises evolved into sharp gasps the moment he pushed the head of his cock into your entrance, your hands scrambling to clutch at his back. While the intrusion wasn’t exactly painful, the stretch was indeed uncomfortable, his length, long and girthy, making you feel as if you would split in two.
“Stop,” You shakily said, overwhelmed by the burning from the stretch. “Stop moving.”
He immediately stilled.
But he let out a tortured sigh as he felt your walls clamp down on him rather tightly.
“Easy now,” Alastor said, lowering his head, mouth wandering down to kiss at the column of your throat. “Relax. You must relax, otherwise, it’ll hurt.”
“How? I don’t know—” You whimpered, but his mouth never ceased its movements, drifting down to focus on your collarbones now. “Alastor?”
He didn’t respond.
Your eyes fluttered shut as he planted a firm hand on your midriff, his palm making a downwards descent at the same rate as his kisses. The entire affair was slow, torturous, even; but at the same time, you couldn’t help but be overcome by gratitude when Alastor’s mouth found one of your nipples, licking, sucking, and the pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, swirling it ever so gently. ‘Oh,’ You moaned out. It soothed the burn, the grip your walls had around his cock loosening. And as the stretch of his girth became more bearable, you told him that he could continue.
“Okay, okay. You can move,” You said, his lips pulling away from your nipple with a wet pop, thumb similarly retreating.
You were a bit disappointed by that—why did he have to stop?
But the look he gave you afterwards, appreciative, relieved, it made you feel a bit better.
“Alright,” Alastor said, pushing in, your walls swallowing him more eagerly. “Oh, look at you, taking me so well.”
He sounded so unlike himself, talking filthy and all, but it made your cunt flutter around him.
“I didn’t think it would fit,” You said, not knowing how else to respond to such words, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.
“Why, of course it would, you silly little thing.”
You almost giggled, but then he grabbed the back of your knees and pushed them down beside your head, allowing him to bury himself deep inside your cunt. You cried out, and though the position made you feel so, so incredibly stuffed, you didn’t protest. The head of his cock was nudging against something sensitive, something nestled within your walls that you never knew existed until now. Unlike you, he was neither a virgin nor inexperienced, so the moment your face contorted with a look of bliss, eyes falling shut, brows furrowing, and lips parting, he knew exactly what he had found.
“Is that a look of discomfort?” Alastor teasingly asked as he slowly slid out of you, your eyes flying open and immediately darting to his face in panic.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Wait, no, it feels—” You started, but then he canted his hips forward and hit that spot within your walls, making you squeak, “—fuck!”
“Ah, cursing now, are we?” Alastor tsked, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours, his glasses kissing your brow.
“I meant to say good!” You weakly protested.
“Oh, I’m sure you did,” Alastor said, repeating what he did earlier, sliding completely out of you before pushing back in, hitting that spot again, but hard.
You sunk your nails into his skin and arched your back, your hips closer together than ever before.
The pleasure was overwhelming, but you couldn’t let him have the satisfaction of being right.
“You’re a bad man,” You managed to say, but it was hard, speaking while he thrusted into you, “Doing—ah!—bad things to me.”
You were right.
He was indeed a bad man.
That shame he felt earlier, he felt it again.
“You don’t know the half of it, darling,” Alastor said, the meaning behind his words all but lost to you.
And with each thrust, he felt it over and over and over again, making him feel beyond just bad.
But you?
You were blissfully ignorant.
The only thing you were aware of was the onslaught of pleasure, new, raw, and unbridled.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chanted, no longer caring, nails dragging across his back and leaving scratches that would surely sting tomorrow.
Alastor supposed that he would forever live with the shame that came with fucking you, and in a manner that was wanton and desperate, too. The sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet, filthy squelching of your cunt as he buried his cock deep inside of your velvety walls, the high-pitched cries and vulgar chants, all of it was a telltale sign that he was taking you like a wild animal instead of making love to you like a devoted husband. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved your first time to be slow and gentle. You deserved better, and not just in general. You deserved better than… him.
That’s why he’d asked for your forgiveness.
He devoured your innocence.
Like the predator he was.
Ironically, you couldn’t be any more content. All your life, everyone had treated you like porcelain, handling you with tenderness as if you’d break. And though you never anticipated your first time to be so spontaneous, so… so much like this, you couldn’t deny how happy you were. You moved your palms up his back, caressing his shoulders and his nape before cradling his face, craning your neck and bringing his face impossibly closer to yours. The frame of his glasses dug into your cheek, but you only cared about kissing him, tongue tentatively darting out to swipe at his lower lip.
Alastor opened his mouth and wrapped his tongue around yours, heart throbbing in his chest at the gentleness you retained despite how hard he was plowing into you, your thumbs affectionately swiping across his cheekbones. All the while, his hands abandoned the back of your knees, attaching themselves to your sides and traveling up, up, and up, feeling your waist, your ribs, and especially your breasts, cupping the supple flesh in his palms before pressing his thumbs onto your nipples and softly squeezing. He smiled into the kiss at the way you jolted up, squealing in delight.
“Can you, um…” You asked between pants as you pulled away from the kiss, lips swollen and all, “Use your mouth on me again?”
“Of course, my darling,” Alastor said, but the shit-eating grin he put on made you skeptical. “But, pray tell, where exactly?”
He slid his thumbs down just below the hardened peaks, moving around them, teasing you.
“Oh, Al, you can’t be serious,” You whined in embarrassment, looking away from him and avoiding eye-contact. “Please… just—”
“Please just, what?” Alastor continued, his thrusts slowing down, but only because he felt himself getting close to finishing. “Well?”
“My… my… chest?”
He leaned down, eyes never leaving yours as he placed a kiss slack on the center of your chest.
The bastard, you mentally seethed.
“No, lower than that.”
His lips grazed your skin as he traveled lower, placing a kiss in between the valley of your breasts.
“Fuck, Al! Fine, my… my nipples!”
Alastor found temporary peace from his shame by being insufferable, thriving on the way you grew flustered at the mere thought of being specific. While he was a bit disappointed that you relented so quickly, he gave you what you wanted, moving his head to the side and capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, tongue darting out to caress the hardened peak. You immediately moved your hands away from his face and buried them in his hair, gasping, cunt fluttering around his cock, nimble fingers threading themselves in his hair as he licked and sucked at your nipple.
“Mm, was that… was that so hard?” You sighed, making him roll his eyes, but he didn’t say or do anything past that.
You were just as close as he was.
So, Alastor left one hand on your breast, the other slithering down the swell of your belly and reaching for that swollen little nub throbbing with need against his pelvis. You unconsciously tightened your grip on his hair and tugged at his scalp when he pressed the pad of his thumb on your clit, swirling it in tandem with his tongue, but it wasn’t until you looked down to watch him work at your body that you clenched around him. He mentally cursed at you for that as he groaned around your nipple, the muscles in his abdomen tensing, hips stuttering and thrusts growing sloppy.
The hair tugging.
The pressure of your sweet cunt as his cock slid in an out of you, even while slowly.
You made him finish before you.
‘No,’ Alastor thought, filled with dread.
He pulled away from your nipple with a wet pop, staring down at you with a mixture of frustration and ecstasy as his cock pulsated inside of your walls, thick, warm ropes of his pleasure painting your womb. And you? Well, you let go of his hair, planting your elbows on the bed, eyes darting between his and where you two were connected. Realization quickly dawned on your face—this, your parents had taught you—but you didn’t understand why he seemed disappointed. Shouldn’t he have reacted the same way you had when he brought you over the edge… or at least similarly?
“Did I do something wrong?” You tentatively asked, looking up at him like you had earlier, like a frightened little doe.
His eyes softened, and he let out a sigh.
“No,” Alastor said, shaking his head as he pulled out. “No, you didn’t,” He continued, elaborating. “I just didn’t want to finish so soon.”
He pulled out his length, making you wince.
“I’m sorry,” You apologized as you tried to ignore the strange sensation of his spend dripping down your hole, but it was hard. It felt weird.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”
Alastor actually wanted you to finish first, not only because he wanted to feel you come undone around him, but because he felt as if it was the least he owed you, all things considered. Thus, he pushed aside his frustration and dismissed your apology, bringing a hand down to rub at your clit once more. Your eyes palpitated, confused, but you opened your legs and watched him bring his other hand to your core, two long, slender fingers prodding at your entrance. You gasped, feeling them part your folds and easily sink into your cunt, curling up and caressing your walls.
“Does that feel good?” Alastor asked you, his movements purposely slow, feeling and touching around for that same spot.
You nodded your head, letting out a particularly loud moan when he found what he was looking for.
“Good, I’m glad,” He grinned, leaning in, but only to capture your lips in a kiss, and one without tongue this time around.
You fully sat up, one hand gripping the sheets to anchor yourself, the other reaching to cradle Alastor’s jaw as you craned your neck and returned the kiss, lips slowly and sensually gliding against his. His fingers sped up, the ones on your clit rubbing faster, the ones nestled deep inside your walls hitting harder, making your thighs tremble. You felt his cock stir to life, the head gently smacking against your leg; but he ignored it to focus on you, to focus on you walls tightening around his fingers and your lips slowing down, breaths coming in shallow.
He placed one last kiss on your mouth, which had fallen slack in pleasure, and pulled away. You didn’t protest. No, not at all, despite how nice it felt to kiss him. You could feel that familiar sensation in your lower belly building up as fast as he fucked you with his fingers, your head falling back with a series of high-pitched cries. Your thighs shook, your chest heaved, and your cunt drenched his fingers, the pleasure that surged through your body somehow better than the first time around. Meanwhile, Alastor watched you come undone, looking nothing short of satisfied.
“Beautiful,” He said, hands still moving, albeit slowly, allowing you to ride out the aftershocks of your pleasure.
“Oh… that’s…” You panted as you shut your legs closed and wriggled away from him, starting to feel overstimulated. “That’s enough.”
“Ah, forgive me, my darling.”
You offered him a wonky smile.
Alastor already knew that you’d say yes. You loved him, and that sentiment only grew twice-fold when he suddenly seized you by the waist, effortlessly hoisting you up into his arms. The night couldn’t get any better. You clung onto him, limbs wrapping around his lithe figure as he turned and made a beeline for the bathroom, laughing alongside you with delight. Still, that word—forgiveness—resonated in your mind long after you’d both washed up and went to bed. Pestering you, driving you mad, like a fly buzzing in your ear, refusing to leave no matter how much you swatted at it.
Your husband was kind and charismatic.
But apologetic? No, not necessarily.
To make matters worse, sleep didn’t come to you as easily as it did for Alastor. So, you laid awake, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about how he’d asked for your forgiveness, not once, but twice, as if he was unconsciously apologizing for something. It was strange… though you supposed there were stranger things that had unfolded earlier, like the change of clothes. Slacks and a belt to investigate a noise outside? You couldn’t begin to make heads or tails of it, not even now that you were lucid. Perhaps you’d question him later in the morning, you thought with a resigned sigh.
The night couldn’t get any better.
A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 44 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)
CW: talks of domestic abuse, semi public fingering Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Show your support by leaving a tip, buy Kit a coffee!
It would be about another hour before the roast finished in the oven. The rich scent was already thick in the air, promising a delicious meal. The radio played a calm jazz tune that soothed over your nerves as you hummed along as you sliced the bread. The center was still just warm from its time in the oven.
To anyone looking from the outside in, it looked like the picture of domestic bliss. That was, as long as you kept your back to them, didn’t move too much and their eyes didn’t have long to linger.
It was lingering eyes that would catch the twinge of your body, halting movements rising from the pain born from injuries hidden and obvious. The way your shoulder slumped, aching from being yanked around, a repeated trauma hardly ever fully allowed to heal. If you turned to face the viewer, they wouldn’t need to watch for the ever so slight limp, your body still healing from more traumas unseen would pair with the healing bruises littering your skin to show them the horror that lived just under the facade of domestic bliss.
Your face was healing, as was your neck, but it would take time to erase the marks left by heavy hands. The gash was hidden, black scab softened, covered by the fall of your hair. You allowed your hair to fall forward, obscuring some of your forehead and hiding where the scab extended down.
Bruises healed slowly, leaving splotchy marks of purple and green. Those would be stolen away by time. In places they already were. Your husband had returned to old habits, focusing his blows on the places that polite society would not see. Having a homebound wife was more trouble than the security of knowing where you were was worth, or so it seemed.
Laurence had been home to check on you once mid morning and once shortly after lunch, but that was the last you had seen from him. It was a welcome break from the near every other hour check ins he had been just doing earlier this week.
How he got any work done between interruptions, you didn’t know. You feared he hadn’t. Alastor had said Laurence was late on his payment and that knowledge rattled around your mind, rolling to the front of your thoughts whenever it seemed to shake free from where it you stored it. It seemed reasonable that, along with his uncontrolled use of the tincture, he became undisciplined in his work.
What did that mean for his family’s business? How would he face his mother if he ruined the family business? How would you look at your mother-in-law?
A flash outside caught your attention. It was far too close to dinnertime for Alastor to be here, surely? Lingering in the doorway, you looked toward where the front of the house was and back to the apple tree. Surely, you could make it back inside if you heard a car on the street if you ran.
There was a rustling in the growing darkness. You could only just see it, more so seeing the suggestion of rustling than the bushes rustle themselves and then Alastor was stepping through.
Long legs carried him across your yard as you ran, heart pounding in both excitement and trepidation at seeing him in the open. There wasn’t enough fear to stop you from wrapping your arms around him, leaning into his embrace the moment you were close enough to touch him.
“Do you have time?” Alastor asked, “Is there something on the stove that could burn?”
“I- No, nothing will burn. The roast has a good bit on it but Laurence. He’ll be home any-”
Alastor kissed you softly, “He won’t be home for another two hours, at least.”
“What?” He walked backwards, kissing you again and again instead of answering your question until he reached the apple tree- your apple tree- and the cover it provided.
“Mimzy is holding him up.”
“Did- Was he able to make your payment?” You asked as he slid down the tree, pulling you with him and urging you to sit with him.
“He wasn’t-”
“I’m sor-” You had cut Alastor off only for him to return the favor.
“I didn’t want him to. I don’t need the money. I need him busy.” Alastor held you tighter in his arms. You could feel him breathing you in as he held you to him.
“He’s going to take extra runs this week to make up the funds. You’ll have a break from him, finally.”
“Will he be gone long enough..?”
“For us to be together?” Alastor finished what you were too timid to say. “Yes, we’ll be able to spend some time together. Mimzy is helping him line things up, get things scheduled. She’s going to keep a copy for me, be the intermediary for us.”
“Bless her,” you whispered, Alastor stealing the words from your lips with a kiss. Sighing into him, you shifted and melted into his arms, clinging to the man your heart beat for.
“There’s more,” Alastor whispered as he gripped your waist, his train of thought derailed as you yelped in pain. “What?”
“It’s- it’s nothing,” you said before backtracking, “Just bruised. I, he threw me into the banister again. It’s a bit tender still, that’s all.”
“My love,” Alastor sighed, thumb rubbing over the still healing bruising around your neck. “Is he still as bad?”
“No,” you answered quickly. “I’m healing. It’s just slow and when he does hit me… it’s worse because I’m not healed, I think.”
“I fixed your jewelry box,” Alastor said, the change in topic confusing you. “At least, mostly. The glass still needs to be replaced, and it needs a staining, but I fixed it.”
“Thank you, Alastor.” You whispered, “I can’t take it back, though. I wouldn’t be able to explain it to Laurence. I had to tell him I threw it out with the trash.”
“I know,” Alastor kissed you again, “But I can fix this for you too.”
“I don’t understand?”
“Cher,” Alastor whispered as he pulled you to straddle his lap, the skirt of your dress bunching around your thighs. It was indecent, having any part of your thighs exposed out in the open, but you said nothing as Alastor wrapped his hand around one, running his fingers over the purple bruise.
“Alastor?” Your breath caught in your lungs, fear running down your spine.
“Do you love me?” he asked, whispered words as his head leaned back against the tree, hair messed and setting sun reflected off the rims of his glasses.
“Of course.” Your heart pounded in your chest, beating wildly at the change of mood. He was solum, serious. The ever-present smile was little more than a ghost on his face.
“Say it?” he asked, knuckles grazing over your cheek softly as he looked at you as if you had the answers to the world.
“I love you, Alastor.” The words were whispered for fear if you spoke louder, the words would break apart. “More than life itself.”
“Truly?” he pressed. “With all of your heart? All of your being?”
“I do.” It felt like a vow on your lips. “I do, Alastor. I love you with everything.”
“Would you love me if I were a monster?” he asked, and a new jolt of fear ran down your spine. For a moment, you remembered the man you loved standing in your kitchen with dried blood splattered over him. He had been hunting, that was all. “No matter how dark my heart is?”
“Always, Alastor.” Your hands ran up his chest, one reaching up to cup his cheek as you pushed that bloodstained memory away, locking it back into the box it belonged in.
“Would you love me no matter my sins?” he pressed again, fingers caressing your neck as he looked into your eyes, brows furrowed. “Would you always love me?”
“Always,” you repeated. Tears ran down your face, though you didn’t remember when they had started, nor did you know why they fell. “I will love you until my dying breath. It’s you, Alastor. Always.”
“Good,” Alastor said, pulling your lips to his in a kiss that stole your breath. “I’ve got a plan to get you out, but we have little time, not tonight. I miss you so much.”
“Please?” You whispered, bracing yourself against his chest. “If we have enough time, please?”
Alastor hooked his hands around your thighs and stood, carrying you as he walked behind the tree. It wasn’t perfect privacy, but it was enough for what he needed and for what you wanted.
It had been too long since he had heard you. You had tortured him in his dreams, sighing his name as you finished again and again in the halls of his mind. Never had he been haunted by such dreams and yet now he hardly gotten a night of peace from them.
Alastor felt your body press the vial in his pocket into his thigh. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he would tell you his plan tomorrow. Right now, he selfishly needed to hear you. He needed to feel you.
The way you clung to him, arms and legs wrapped around him, pressing your core against him as he pressed your back to the tree, told him how you needed him too. You gasped as his lips caressed the bruises along your neck.
He pushed his hips into you, giving your core fiction you so badly wanted. You gasped as he ran his hand up your thighs, fingers caressing over stockings until he was touching skin.
“Alastor, wait-” It was hard to think as his hand gripped your breast before running down your side. His strong body braced you against the tree by your hips as his other inched closer to your core. “You can’t. We- we can’t.”
“Why not?” Alastor asked, lost in his need to feel you, to hear you. It had been far too long since you had come apart in his hands.
“I’m-” Flush rose higher in your cheeks as you tried to figure out a delicate way to describe your condition, “It’s my time.”
Alastor smiled wider as he leaned in, kissing your swollen lips as he ran his thumb along the hem of your panties. He let your legs fall, supporting you until you were standing on your own. His hand didn’t leave your thigh though, keeping your dress bunched around your wrist.
“I don’t care about that,” Alastor whispered in your ear, nipping the lobe between his lips as he spoke. “What do you think about that?” he teased.
“Alastor,” you protested as his fingers hooked on either side of the band, “It’s unclean.”
“I’m not scared of some blood,” Alastor said, kissing your jaw. “Let me make you feel good.”
“But,” You struggled to think, shame and desire warring within you.
“I won’t go inside,” he offered. “It’ll be like the first time. Just your nub, just to give you pleasure.”
“okay,” you nodded, lip pulled between your teeth, worrying the flesh at the thought..
Alastor kissed you as he sent your panties falling to the ground. You tried to ignore the trail of wetness the towel left on your thighs. He guided you to step out of them, lifting your thigh up, opening you to him.
His fingers trailed over thighs. With his foot, he scooted your leg out, opening more space. You could hardly think as he kissed you, breathing you in as his lips worked against yours.
When his fingers grazed over your clit, you gasped. His tongue worked into your mouth, drinking every sigh as he worked his fingers over you. Your hips rocked as he ran his fingers back, gathering the quickly growing bloodstained slick.
Any shame you had felt was quickly being replaced by need, want. It felt wrong to feel such things in your current state, but you did. It was just one more way you failed to be as pure as a woman should be.
You didn’t care as Alastor’s fingers worked over you. All you cared about in the moment was chasing the feeling only he could give you. Every attempt to moan his name was swallowed, muffled by his tongue tasting you.
Your back arched into him, the tree scraping against your scalp as you came closer and closer to your undoing. Alastor’s lips left yours, searing kisses trailing over your jaw, kissing away every healing bruise.
“I love you,” he whispered as he felt your body tighten under his hands. “I love you just as you are.”
You were not sure what it was about what he said that sent you over the edge, but it did. Gasping his name, your legs flexed and clinched around him, pulling him tighter against you without control. The action had unintended consequences. His hand was trapped between your body and his, shoved further back as the space close.
The pad of his middle finger slipped inside your slick opening, though he hadn’t intended to. The feeling of something breaching you as you orgasmed sent a loud moan, lewd and delicious, from your lips. He was eager to swallow the sound as you spasmed around his first knuckle, body fighting to pull it deeper.
He held you tightly, waiting for the twitching and gasps to still. As your body went limp in his arms, he pulled slowly back, letting his finger slip from you. He couldn’t help but run the pads of his fingers over your sensitive folds, ensuring to caress your clit one last time as he let you regain your wits.
“I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly as you blinked up at him. “I hadn’t intended to.”
“It’s,” you sighed, not angry but feeling shame.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” He said as he wiped his hand on the inside of his jacket. “It’s something most women’s bodies do. There’s no reason to withhold pleasure just because it may be a bit… messier than normal.” Alastor kissed you as he helped you into your panties, paying no mind to the rag.
“How can you be so…?”
“So, what?” Alastor laughed as he allowed you to slide your clothing back into order.
“Unflappable?” you settled for saying, “About everything?”
“I was raised by a lone woman,” Alastor shrugged. “It’s hard to hide the nature of women when there’s no one else. Mother could have, I suppose, but why?”
“It’s disgusting.” You challenged, “Unclean.”
“It’s natural and human,” Alastor retorted, kissing you as you opened your mouth to protest again, silencing you. His tongue caressed yours as he pulled you back off the tree. “Don’t be ashamed with me. Never.”
“Okay,” the words were soft, but he was pleased enough with the agreement.
“I love you,” He caressed your face, tucking hair gone wild at the hands of passion and the tree bark. “Every imperfection. Every mark of humanity. I love you, not some doll or idea of you. It’s you I want.”
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Heat Relief (Alastor x Reader)
Notes: Reader has a vagina, reader n alastor are both sex-repulsed asexuals, platonic sex for heat relief reasons, extremely dubious consent to noncon, retracted consent, CANNIBALISM AT THE END!
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Heats suck ass.
One of Hell's cruellest jokes has to be you being reborn as a mammal, and all of the inconveniences that come along with it. Heats are the worst of all, up-heaving your entire life and leaving you incapacitated in the progress. Being high on a cocktail of hormones and left in a lust-driven frenzy is never a good thing… But there are plenty of people in Hell willing to take advantage of it. Add to that the fact you've never had that much of a desire to masturbate, and it's a recipe for disaster.
At least you have Hazbin Hotel now. While the conversation with Charlie about temporarily moving your room faaar away from the others, she'd been nothing but understanding and accepting. It was the first time you didn't feel disgusting about going through this every month. She even left you drinks and food outside your door at regular intervals. (Because, while it's very much possible to get through a heat without eating or drinking, being unable to die doesn't make it pleasant.)
After you've spent days using toys to get yourself off, you reek of it no matter how much you shower. The scent has to be chipped away at by time. When you head downstairs in desperate need for a drink, it's a walk of shame. Both of your wrists are throbbing with exertion.
You had wished the bar were empty, but wishes don't always come true.
Angel Dust takes one sideways glance at you and bursts out laughing. The tips of his heels clack against the wood of the bar as he kicks his legs around, one pair of arms crossed over his lap.
"Been having fun, babe? Fuck!" He leans his chin on one hand, swirling around a drink in your general direction with the other. "You were holed up in there for days. Y'know, I know a guy or two that could cut that time in half. Easy. Won't even cost that much."
You're, frankly, too exhausted to think of coming up with a comeback or quip. "Maybe. I'm tired," you respond. As if it isn't obvious. The practically audible roll of his eyes doesn't bother you. You're not into hiring a complete stranger as 'heat relief' even if it'd make your life easier. There's no reason to trust them.
You slide into a stool a couple seats away from Angel Dust. Husk looks at you, his frown relaxing somewhat. He probably experiences something similar, after all. Without any unnecessary words, Husk is pouring you a drink. A mix, though more alcohol than anything else. At the very least it could help you take your mind off of things. It might be what you need.
Even a couple of sips in, you know this is definitely not what you need. Given your exhaustion, the alcohol hits harder than ever and the drink tasted strongly of liquor to begin with. Your head feels heavy. So do your arms. Your legs itch to move. There's zero good reason to keep drinking, but sometimes you like the taste of your own self-destruction. It doesn't take long before you've veered well into 'tipsy' territory.
You can feel the pinprick of a gaze at your back. Static teases at the edge of your hearing. You ignore it.
"No, but, really," Angel Dust starts again. "I don't get why ya don't just hire someone and get it over with. Yeah, yeah, I get it— It's not pretty, you're not making kissy-kissy love-dovey faces at each other, but it's Hell, toots."
This time, you turn your head just far enough to the righ to shoot him a glare. You slam down your glass. A slosh of alcohol spills past the rim, staining the top of your hand and darkening the wood it lands on.
"I just don't like it, okay?!" You spit out, defensiveness flaring up all at once. The idea of some stranger's hands roaming over your body, to have to expose yourself like that in front of someone— To have sex with them, it makes your stomach turn. And, at the same time, hot tears burn at the corner of your eyes. You wish that you weren't like this too, sometimes, but what can you do about it? The alcohol has loosened your tongue. "I don't like to have sex, so why should I pay someone else for the honour of being touched by them?!"
You grit your teeth, eyes burning holes in the counter in front of you. This sucks. This is genuinely just horrible. Before the tears have a chance to spill past your cheeks, or you manage to make an even bigger fool of yourself, you stumble your way off the chair and up in the direction of your room. If anyone had told you anything, it would've been hard for the noise to get through passed your plugged ears. You can't shake the feeling that you're being followed and wriggle your ears as you pull your claws from them.
Still, the only thing you can think of, for now, is to get the hell out of there. You use your newly freed hands to wipe away at the corners of your eyes. You'll cry in the relative safety of your room. It's only when you've arrived at your door that you whip around, bringing you face to face with Hazbin Hotel's most infamous employee— The Radio Demon.
He's smiling, as usual, the quirk of his mouth revealing a glint of yellowed teeth. Alastor's pupils are narrowed into slits. The red, metal ferrule of his cane taps against the floor. He tilts his head at you.
"You are aware that it's quite rude to keep a caller waiting, yes?" You absolutely do not have the energy to deal with this. Why has he decided to cast his eye upon you now, at all times? You haven't been 'worthy' of his attention for even a moment prior. "But, I suppose you may be allowed a bit of leniency… That fellow can be quite a drag!"
You have no idea what he's getting at. If it weren't for the alcohol active in your system, you might've been left unable to speak at all. Right now, you want nothing more than to crash into your bed and sleep until you won't wake up without being even slightly hungover.
"Look, um, I was going to head to bed," you say, still teetering on the edge of an apology. Your mouth opens in a jaw and you barely cover it with your hand. "I probably can't help you much right now. Maybe Charlie—"
"Oh, no, no," Alastor intercepts with a shake of his head. "Dear, if I needed anyone else, I would have simply gone to them! No, you've caught my attention today, with your short-lived little speech down at the bar." He takes a step forward. You don't have the chance to move back before his fingers have invaded your space in a flash, wiping away imaginary tears still lingering near your eyes. You flinch after his arm has already retreated.
"That was…" You swallow. You're inebriated, but not far enough gone not to feel any shame about that moment already. "Well. Not great." You slump against the wall next to you. Alastor's eyes meticulously follow your every movement, and you soon find yourself straightening once again.
"Not great in the moment, perhaps," he acquiesces. "But I do believe there is potential for an agreement there between us. You see, much like you, I suffer from a similar… Ailment, shall we say, every month, like clockwork." You're left too speechless to interfere. Whatever direction you had anticipated this conversation to take, it had not been this.
"Much like you, I am not interested in the regular 'relief services' provided by the masses. I want it to be done with as soon as possible. In that respect, I suspect we have a shared interest. Objectively speaking, you are also more attractive than whoever is offering themselves up for a dollar and a dime." A beat of silence falls, the noise of static once again increases. "That was a compliment."
"T-thank you," you stammer, mind still struggling to catch up. It's like you've simultaneously sobered up and gotten even more confused. "So, if I understand correctly… You're saying we should have sex."
"That's how you could choose to describe it, yes. Only as a means to make both our lives a little bit easier. When I heard you express yourself earlier… Well, I would not have used the same phrasing, but I believe our feelings are much aligned! Always the perfect grounds for a fruitful agreement."
"I'm not… I'm not interested in making any kind of official deal," you tell him. One look at Husk turned you off the idea forever. It certainly hasn't done him any favours.
You've heard far too many horror stories about deals in hell gone wrong. In misheard conversations, or illegible fine print— You have no desire to find out that you've accidentally sold your soul to a demon as infamous as Alastor, relegated to being a cautionary tale for centuries to come. Though you will admit that the idea of easier heats is appealing.
"I don't think any kind of 'deal' is necessary in this case, my dear," Alastor says, looking down at his nails and flexing his fingers. "My reasons are clearly laid out, whatever you make of them. You wouldn't lose anything from it— Really, I'm being very hospitable right now, ha!"
Your mind chugs away. Perhaps it's the alcohol clouding your judgement, but it doesn't all sound so horrible, given the right circumstances. Charlie already knows of your heats, you could inform her of this, too. If she thought anything was up, you're sure the Princess of Hell wouldn't hesitate to burst in and help, embarrassing as it might be for you. That's simply the kind of person she is. Beyond that, powerful as he may be, Alastor is still incapable of killing you.
Your mouth is forming the words before you've completely thought them through. "I want it to be here, in the hotel. And if I hate it… Then we'll never do it again."
"Yes, yes, certainly. But it will be my room," Alastor counters. "Nowhere else."
This takes away from your idea of familiar ground, as you've never been inside there before, but it still feels safe enough. You nod, sealing your fate. Even without a tangible deal in place, you're certain that Alastor will hold you to your word.
Afterwards, the whole conversation feels like nothing more than a fever dream. For a few days, you manage to fool yourself into thinking that none of it ever happened. That you'd passed out in bed and dreamed up the whole thing.
This delusion manages to last until Alastor presents you with a strip of pills, informing you that you are to take them in order to line up your little 'predicaments'. Neither of you wants to be in any coherent state of mind for your little deal, it seems. If suppressing your heat through pills like these didn't suck so much, you'd be doing it all the time. But, whether this is the only time you go through with this or not, you only have to go through all the side-effects once.
When Alastor's rut rolls around, you don't need to be told. You can smell it on the air. It sends your temperature spiking, leading your feet to the door of his room without even thinking about it. After putting off your heat with the medication, it seems to fog over your mind more than ever before.
You lean against the frame of the door. Lifting your hand to knock on it brings the sensation of moving through sludge. Everything is so heavy, so difficult. Feverish heat pools in between your legs and soaks through your clothing. The fabric is clammy against your fur.
Your hand barely brushes against the door before it's yanked open. The world around you upturns at once, sending you crashing to the floor. Instead of your face meeting wood, you're caught in… Something. It's long, dark and a little transparent. Through it, your own skin and clothes are still visible. Following the tendril to its source, you find Alastor.
In the back of your mind, a little square untouched by your heat, you'd been worried about how this was supposed to go. What would you even say, would you have to make some kind of awkward small talk before you have sex with each other? That had seemed about as dreadful to you as the act itself. The dancing around the subject until neither of you would be able to control yourself anymore.
Alastor doesn't look like he'd be capable of such politeness or niceties right now. His bow tie is skewed around his neck, one of his gloves missing. His clawed hand, covered in gray fur, slowly clenches and relaxes again. The coat that he's wearing is more tattered than before. There are gashes left in it, around the bottom.
None of that is even mentioning his expression. His smile is stretched wide enough to look painful, a little spit gathered at the corners of his mouth. The pupils are deep, dark puddles you could drown in.
In your hours worrying about the logistics, awkwardness, and shame you had never once considered exactly what you would be in for, here. Alastor is dangerous, he's repulsed by sex, possibly even more so than you, and forced to take part in something he loathes— What had you been expecting? There is no lust there, but he looks ready to devour you whole.
"You kept me waiting," he tells you, every word strained out through grit, yellowed fangs.
You do not get the chance to respond. Entangled in his shadow, he drags you in through the entrance of his room, the door slamming shut behind you. Fear has doused your heat with a bucket of cold water and you let out a short-cut scream as you're dragged into his dark room, a glittering expanse of stars above you.
As you hang suspended in the air for a moment, the full expanse of his room sprawls before you. It smells of dirt and grass, with actual trees growing inside of it. Somewhere in the back, a bush rustles, and the thought flashes through your mind that he keeps other things in here.
"You'd do well not to be distracted," Alastor tells you, something still uncanny about his voice. His mouth opens ever so slightly, this time. A dark, uneven tongue momentarily darts past his lips.
You wish you could say something, anything. But every muscle in your body is tensed up, constricting even your throat. The walls of the expansive room seem to be closing in on you. You cannot actually, permanently, die in Hell by Alastor's mind, you tell yourself. But repeating this over and over again does nothing to soothe your nerves.
You're brought down to the ground, dropped in soft, wet clay next to a small pond in the room. You hit the floor with a wet smack that is anything but gentle. The wind is knocked out of you and you wheeze in a breath, the contents of your stomach sloshing around inside of you. Your nose is clogged with the smell of dirt and still water, reeds rustling as your fingers claw around in the mud in an attempt to get up.
Once again, all of your limbs are pinned down with tendrils and, in a flash, Alastor is on top of you. His hands roam over the lower parts of your body and, at the almost-gentle touch, your mind is starting to turn to slush again at the knowledge you'll have sex soon. Heats are truly incapacitating and, even with the smell of the pond and mud, Alastor's pheromones hang thick in the air. It's a scent that has your face scrunching up, metallic and sharp.
Your bones still echo with pain in response to the smack you made. "This isn't what we agreed to," you manage to force out, your body trembling.
Continuing on from touching, his claws have started to cut through what little clothing you're wearing on your lower half. Anything above your hips is left untouched. At one point, the nail catches on your skin and you jump.
"We would relieve each other's heats, in part with sex," Alastor says, the corners of his mouth trembling. With both of his hands yanking away the scraps of your clothing, you finally realise what is so wrong about his voice: It's raw, unfiltered through the usual filter of his microphone. "Other than that, I do not think we made any agreements that I could break. I cannot hurt you. Permanently, that is. If, in my 'excitement', I leave a little damage… I hope you'll accept any advance apology for that."
A thick string of drool slides through the gaps in between his teeth and drips down onto your chest, darkening the fabric. Your heart is racing and your head is rolling around the floor, multiple overlapping parts of you screaming over each other— Self-preservation, fear, shame, disgust, but there is nothing you can do about any of it.
Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, imagining yourself in the comfort of your nest, cooped up in your room, anywhere more comfortable than here. Oh, right now, how you could wish that you could turn off your rational mind completely. The opportunity soon presents yourself as your thighs are nudged apart and you open your eyes just in time to see the tip of Alastor's cock nearing your entrance. Other than pulling his clothes a bit to the side, he hasn't shed anything.
A loud, guttural noise is ripped from your throat as he forces himself inside of you, cramming as much of his cock in your slick hole as he can in a single movement. No matter how sex-ready your body might be because of your heat, that doesn't make it comfortable. There are no slow grinds to loosen up your insides and get you used to the movement. If there are any tears, at least they'll be healed by the time he's done with you. Mud is caked thick underneath your nails and the tears dripping down your face add to the softness of the mud.
(you asked for this and you agreed to this but this is nothing like what you expected, what you wanted, and it is simultaneously worse and better. because you would have never wanted him to touch or caress you like a lover but, right now, you feel no better than a piece of meat.)
But when you open your mouth, as much as you want to scream or cuss him out, all that leaves your lips is a whiny, needy noise thanks to your heat. Your pussy has stretched out to fit him and the pain is gone. In response to your noises, your pheromones that must be filling the air, Alastor shows no response. Not even a twitch of his ears or nose. Instead, all that he busies himself with is the same, selfish thrusts, rapid and purely chasing his own pleasure.
If you weren't high on hormones, none of this would've felt remotely good. Now, though, with the pain ebbing away bliss takes it place, shooting through your limbs every time his hips meet yours with a smack. Your hand sneaks in between your legs and you rub vigorously at your engorged clit. The consequences of doing such a thing with hands so dirty as yours is something for the you of tomorrow to worry about. Aided by your hand, you cum in no time at all, walls spasming around his cock.
It's the first time Alastor lets out a noise other than his heavy panting. At your pussy clenching around him, trying to milk him, he lets out a groan. More spit drips down on your chest and, finally, you look up at his face once again. For a little while, he'd been nothing but a set of thrusting hips to you, too focused on the pain and the intrusion to remember who he is, what he is.
When you do, you wish you hadn't looked. His composure has only crumbled further. His smile has spread wide enough that his lips have started to curl in on himself, a little blood clinging to his lips from where his teeth cut through his bottom lip. He's pounding into you at a pace that has become bruising and, at this point, you can't imagine it feels good for him either. Your mouth hangs half open, a constant stream of little noises leaving your mouth.
Your orgasm has washed away the worst of your heat. With the increased clarity of mind, your stomach twists and turns and, once again, you close your eyes. The sensations are too much, the knowledge of the fact that you're having sex with someone you don't even like, platonically or romantically, digging gashes in your mental state. You should've never agreed to this. Your heat had egged you on to go here, but you'd taken those pills all those days. (In a little corner of your mind, perhaps you'd told yourself that it'd be worse if he forced himself on you when his rut rolled around and you weren't in heat.)
You listen to the ceaseless rustling of the plants at the edge of the pond and feel yourself retreating into the back of your head, trying to forget the rest of your body. You're a little thing huddled in the back of your head, gazing out at the world through your skull, and nothing else is attached to you, that is all that you are.
With another snap of his hips, Alastor finishes inside of you, spurt after spurt of cum filling you up. You let out a long, shuddering sigh. The sloppy thrusts, the gasps for air and the rolling of his eyes are all indicators that this is about to come to an end— A heat relief service indeed, but at what cost? You'll have to avoid him like the plague for the rest of your stay here, that's for sure.
You crack open your eyes. You are greeted with the sight of Alastor's mouth opening for the first time, teeth seeming longer than ever, saliva almost literally pouring down on you. Alastor is past all point of reason, panting so hard it leaves clouds in the air. A rumbling, like the growling of someone's stomach, reaches your ears. Before you can move even a muscle, he strikes.
His fangs sink down into the meat of your shoulder, tearing through the fabric of your shirt as if it were mere paper. You scream so hard your throat erupts in pain, violently bucking against the tendrils still holding you down. With every twitch of your muscles, they seem to solidify further. His tongue slathers the broken skin and torn muscle as you wheeze in a breath, tears and snot running down your face.
Alastor's cock has hardened inside you once again. It seems that he's satisfying two hungers at once, now. Black spots dance across your vision. Even if you can't die permanently, you seem to have a painful road ahead of you; until he's had his fill, that is.
